


Tideline

by pugoata



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Bumbleby - Freeform, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Past Abuse, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:15:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27733642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pugoata/pseuds/pugoata
Summary: AU: Yang can’t imagine a life that isn’t spent on the ocean. She lives and breathes the salty air, and feels right at home aboard theHuntress, where she spends her days catching fish. As much as she loves the ocean, though, she’s long accepted that she’ll never know every secret the ocean has to offer. The vast waters will always hold its mysteries, and Yang is content enough just to live on its surface and never question what lies beneath.This all changes when Yang hauls something unexpected out of the water. Blake Belladonna is every mystery Yang’s never thought about, every fairy tale come to life. She’s beautiful and alluring, and something about her calls to Yang. But Blake has secrets of her own, secrets that just might prove more threatening than the ocean itself.But for the first time, Yang wants to take that plunge and uncover all of them.
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long
Comments: 195
Kudos: 535





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic wouldn't exist without [smallandsundry](https://smallandsundry.tumblr.com/) whispering in my ear. Thank you for that, and for the [bribe...](https://smallandsundry.tumblr.com/post/618768102601129984/)

Over the roar of the engine, the winches squeal and creak as they begin to wind. Right now, it’s a waiting game, and Yang hovers at the stern of the boat, leaning against the rail as she watches the net crank home. It’s dark beneath the water, still too deep to see the silvery scales of fish.

“This is gonna be a good one. I can feel it.”

Yang glances at her sister over her sunglasses. Ruby’s by her side, one hand holding onto the rail as she leans away from it. She always looks so alive out in the ocean air, like she’s about to fly into the sky and dance with the seagulls. Both of them have always felt at home out here, but Yang’s more the type to sink into the waves rather than blow away on the wind. Maybe that’s why they’ve always worked well as a team; they just _balance_.

“This is only the first one,” Yang warns her, raising up a gloved finger. “Don’t jinx it.”

Ruby throws on a look of mock hurt. “Do I ever?”

“I guess since you say it every time, the sea gods or whatever know to not take you seriously anymore.”

“Exactly!” Ruby tries to snap her fingers, but the thick rubber gloves on her hand are too big for it to be effective. “Which means when we really _do_ need the luck, we’ll still get it!”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works…”

“It is, and it _does_!”

This was a conversation they’d had before, and likely would again. Spending so many days on the trawler, hauling in fish for hours at a time, conversations tended to get reused. It drove Weiss nuts, but Yang didn’t mind the same banter, the same jokes. It was a better alternative to the in-house drama on some of the larger fishing vessels, and it made her savor any new conversations all the more.

As Yang waits, she pulls the beanie off her head and shakes her hair out before cramming it back on. She sees Weiss look out at them from the window of the cockpit, disapproving, clearly judging her; Yang wearing her hair loose on deck always makes Weiss nervous, so Yang does the mature thing and just blows her a kiss before turning back to the incoming net.

It certainly _looks_ like a good catch. Yang smiles, pleased, as the net is slowly pulled up the ramp, glittering with fish. It’s a heavy load, and a heavy load means a good payday. Ruby pumps a fist into the air.

“Told ya!” she whoops, and both of them leap toward the net. It leaks seawater, splattering their rubber waders, and the wind sprays some of it back across Yang’s aviators, but it’s so light that it doesn’t distract her.

Carefully, she and Ruby guide the mouth of the net to face the center of the bin, holding it steady. Yang looks up to the cockpit window, gives Weiss a thumbs up, and braces herself.

The net opens and fish begin to tumble into the bin. Both she and Ruby step back, each keeping one hand on the net to make sure it doesn’t swing. Yang tries to do some quick math in her head, and reasons that just a few catches like this will be enough to keep the _Huntress_ afloat (pun not intended) for another season. Not a bad way to start the morning. She grins.

But immediately, the grin is knocked off her face when something large and heavy dumps out of the net. She jolts, and Ruby completely jumps with surprise, nearly letting go of the net.

“Wait, what the fuck is this?” Yang asks, staring with horror at the brown carcass in the bin.

“Oh _shit_ ,” Ruby moans, but Yang is already throwing a leg into the bin and climbing in. The net’s nearly emptied itself, and Ruby just stands there stupidly, watching her sister push her way through the fish.

“Go get Weiss,” Yang says quickly, dropping to her knees in front of the creature, heedless of the fish beneath her. “I don’t know--”

A singular, golden eye looks up at her, pupil narrowing to a catlike slit before the eye closes completely.

Yang feels sick.

“Go!” she says again, making a shooing motion with her hand. Ruby scampers away, and Yang quickly pulls her aviators off, shoving them into her breast pocket as she pushes fish away, trying to uncover the creature.

It’s a _seal_. Yang stares, not sure what to do first. It’s not like the thick harbor seals they see from time to time out on the water, but more like a sea lion, with a rich brown hide that’s a stark contrast to the silvery fish around it. The animal is motionless, and Yang thinks she must’ve imagined the way that peculiar gold eye had stared at her. There had been too much intelligence behind it, too much… _fear_.

Seals didn’t have eyes like that. She has to be imagining things.

Yang reaches out a hand, and then hesitates. She wanted to see if the seal still has a pulse, but she doesn’t have the faintest idea where to find one. She isn’t even sure if it’s _possible_ to feel a seal’s pulse beneath all the blubber, but she decides to try, ungloving her right hand and placing it against the seal’s neck.

It’s slick and cold, and Yang doesn’t immediately feel a pulse. She runs her hand along the seal's body. It’s petite for a seal, she supposes, more angular and less blubbery than seals of the northern waters usually had. Bright red blood stains its muzzle, as if from a nosebleed, but this isn’t the only wound.

There’s a long, deep gash along the seal’s side, dark with blood. 

“You have _got_ to be kidding me!” Weiss says with horror, stopping just short of the fish bin. She’s not dressed in the bright orange waders that Ruby and Yang wear, though she looks more like a fisherman now, in a blue flannel, vest, and thick workpants, than she had when they’d first met. She spins to Ruby. “See, this is _exactly_ why PETA--”

“Is it dead?” Ruby asks, ignoring Weiss, her voice barely more than a squeak. Yang traces a finger beside the seal’s wound, uncertain, but sees a very shallow, almost imperceptible rise and fall of its body.

It’s still breathing.

“Not yet,” Yang murmurs, trying to make out how big the wound is. She pauses, then presses an exploratory finger against the gash.

The seal doesn’t stir.

“You’re _touching_ it?” Weiss demands, her blue eyes wide with horror. A pained look crosses her face, and she shakes her head slowly, ponytail bobbing. “We should just… roll it back overboard. Seals survive this sort of stuff all the time, right?”

“That sounds cold,” Ruby mutters, stepping around the bin to get a closer look.

“But that’s nature,” Weiss replies. “And, let’s be frank, we can’t cut our trip short by bringing an injured seal back to Vale. It’ll probably be dead by then, _and_ we’ll lose our profit, _and_ those militant animal-rights hippies will _pounce_ on us.”

“It’s still a cold thing to say,” Ruby insists, shifting nervously. “ _This_ is why they call you the _Ice Queen_.”

Yang hears Weiss’s indignant squawk, but her attention has already shifted, and she stares at a long indent that runs from the seal’s tail to its neck. It’s almost like a scar, but it looks too… _clean_. It’s deep, but perfectly even, as if someone had cut the seal from top to bottom and had allowed it to heal in a very long indent.

Curiosity gets the better of her, and she traces a bloody finger along the line. As Weiss and Ruby continue to bicker behind her, she presses a finger into it, trying to see if it’ll reveal another wound.

She gasps. She didn’t really expect it to give-- at most, she would’ve thought she would’ve just pulled the skin taut. Instead, her finger seems to _push_ the skin back, like it’s not even attached to the body at all. There’s enough room for her to slide a finger beneath the hide and, curious, she does. But what she feels there isn’t blood or blubber.

Yang yanks her hand away, aghast. 

“Guys…” she says slowly, trying to make sense of it. Whatever was under that hide was smooth, soft. Warm.

Almost like human skin.

“We should at _least_ try to do what we can for it!” Ruby pleas, though Yang doesn’t hear Weiss’s argument.

She takes a deep breath and slides her hand along the indent experimentally. She repeats the process, pushing the skin again, sure she must have imagined what she’d felt before. This time, she keeps pushing, seeing how far it can go.

Her eyes widen. The more she pushes, the more the hide seems to wrinkle under her touch. It’s like even the blubber is deflating away beneath her fingers, until what she’s pulling feels like nothing more than very heavy, very wet, very _slippery_ fabric. Ruby and Weiss gasp, suddenly noticing what Yang is doing, but Yang’s too caught up in the mystery to stop now. She gives it a final tug, pulling it all away.

And uncovers a woman, laying among the fish.

“What the _fuck_ ,” she hears Ruby breathe, but Yang can’t even think, can only pull away the bloodied sealskin and toss it behind her, outside the fish bin.

The woman is naked, lifeless, her brown skin the same shade as the thick hide Yang had just peeled off of her. There’s a wound in her side, blood flowing freely, and this time, Yang knows where to look for a pulse. She turns the woman over, and for a few dreamlike seconds, Yang can only stare. 

She’s beautiful, the most beautiful woman Yang has ever seen, and she wonders maybe if the Greeks got it wrong; maybe Aphrodite didn’t ride in from the sea on a seashell, but within the skin of a seal. Yang tears her eyes away from the perfect angles and planes of her face, trying to ground herself with the task at hand. She pushes away the woman’s sleek black hair and presses a couple fingers against her neck.

A pulse flutters against them, and Yang lets out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

“How--?” Weiss asks, the question dying under the roar of the boat’s engine.

“I’m getting her inside,” Yang says decisively. It’s easier to hold onto what she knows than to sit around and wonder about the _un_ known; whatever the fuck just happened, she could figure it out after she’d taken care of this woman. A woman who was very real, and very injured.

“Yang, what did you _do_?” Ruby asks in a low voice as Yang carefully steps out of the fish bin.

“She was… wearing something. This.” Yang slides her foot underneath the sealskin, only vaguely noticing that she can see her boot through the massive hole in it.. “Can you grab that? Maybe we should save it.”

“I-- yeah!” Ruby snatches it, and Weiss stares at them, stunned.

“What are we supposed to do with, uh…” She looks from the hide to the woman in Yang’s arms, and Yang can tell she’s trying to figure out if she should say _seal_ or _woman_.

“Well, she’s not dead, so I’m going to try and fix her up,” Yang replies, adjusting her grip. For having been inside a seal’s body, the woman isn’t very heavy. “Unless you think we should just _roll her back overboard_?”

Weiss flinches at the barb. “This-- this is _obviously_ not the same thing!” she stammers, and Ruby snorts.

“I’m teasing,” Yang adds, giving Weiss a wan smile. “But I _do_ need to take care of her. That okay?”

“The fish…” Weiss begins, but Ruby gives her a nudge.

“You can always put _your_ waders on and help.”

“I’m--”

Yang tunes them out, striding toward the stairs, keeping a close eye on the wound. Whatever had pierced the sealskin had made a nearly identical wound in the woman’s hip, and though it wasn’t deep enough to hit anything vital, it was still deep enough for stitches. Yang grimaces, not wanting to think about whatever had been capable of creating a jagged wound like this.

The steps on the _Huntress_ are narrow and steep, and Yang has to negotiate them carefully, her body naturally rocking with the waves as she makes her way toward the cabin. She hears footsteps behind her, and when she turns, she sees Ruby hurrying to catch up to her, the bloodstained sealskin in her hands, Weiss not far behind.

The cabin is snug, with very little room to do anything other than sleep. There are two sets of bunkbeds lining the wall, with rails to keep the crew from being tossed out of bed during their sleep. It’s a tight fit, with three of them and the unconscious woman in Yang’s arms, but somehow, they all squeeze in.

“She smells like brine,” Weiss points out as Ruby helps lower the bedrails on Yang’s bunk. “ _And_ fish. She’s going to make the room stink.”

“We’re fishermen, Weiss,” Yang replies with an eyeroll, shifting the unconscious woman and pulling back the blanket. “ _We_ smell like brine and fish. Now go get a first-aid kit-- she needs stitches.”

“We _should_ get her to a hospital,” Weiss says.

“It’ll take too long to get back to port.” Yang shakes her head. “And if it’s just stitches she needs, I can do that easily enough on my own. Besides…” She hesitates. “I’m… not sure what we’d say. That we just found her floating in the ocean?”

“Good point,” Weiss says, wincing. “I just… I don’t know. I don’t like this, Yang.”

“I know,” Yang replies, eyebrows drawing together. “Maybe if she gets worse, we can radio in for some help. But she seems stable for now, so I think our best bet is to just see if she wakes up.”

“And if not?”

“I… don’t know.” Yang can’t let herself think that far. “First-aid kit, Weiss? And a stool?”

With a short nod, Weiss turns, darting back along the narrow passages of the lower deck. Ruby doesn’t follow, leaning against the wall instead and continuing to study the sealskin in her hands.

For a second, Yang hesitates. Then, she pulls off her sweater, leaving her in just her waders and sports bra, but she’s more concerned about the woman’s warmth than her own; it had been cold in the ocean water. But the thick wool of the sweater holds Yang’s residual body heat, which the seal woman could probably use right about now. After all, she thinks wryly, it’s not like the woman has blubber anymore to keep her warm.

_Blubber._ Just the thought was too surreal. Maybe she really _was_ just dreaming up this whole afternoon.

It’s hard to dress a lifeless body, but Yang manages to tug the sweater over the woman’s head and maneuver her arms through her sleeves. All the while, the woman doesn’t stir. Yang sweeps her long hair out from the head hole, letting it fan out across the thin cot pillow. Satisfied, she tugs the blanket up to the woman’s hips, pulling it back just enough to expose the wound. 

She crouches, studying it more closely. Now that she’s at her level, she’s dismayed to see how messy it is. Not too deep, but it’ll take some creativity to stitch up, surely leaving a scar.

“Yang,” Ruby says timidly when Yang rises again. “I… think I might know what’s going on.”

“Huh?” 

“Have you ever heard of selkies?”

Yang looks over sharply. At that moment, Weiss rounds back into the cabin, her scowl even deeper than before. She’s hefting a short stool in one hand, and carrying the first-aid kit in the other.

“I got it,” she says, proffering the kit to Yang, and setting the stool down beside the bunk. “I do hope you know what you’re doing.”

“This ain’t my first rodeo,” Yang replies dismissively, snapping open the first aid kit. Her eyes land back on Ruby. “What was that about selkies?”

“Selkies?” Weiss asks, confused.

“Selkies!” Ruby says, nodding eagerly. “You know, seal people. You know the legends, right?”

“Well, yeah,” Yang says, pulling the stool closer with her foot. She plops down on it, and pulls out a pair of latex gloves. “Sorta. But they’re only a myth.”

“Did you _not_ just see what happened up there?” Ruby asks. She waves the seal skin triumphantly, and even with a quick glance, Yang sees the massive hole torn through it. “She was a _seal_ , Yang!”

“I remember,” Yang mutters, shaking her head, though to be honest, she isn’t sure that fact has really sunk in. She can’t _let_ it sink in. At least, not until she’s finished her work with the woman. She takes a closer look at the wound, pressing her gloved fingers to it and lining up the skin experimentally. “Could someone get me a washcloth?”

“So I think she’s a _selkie_!” Ruby repeats, a little more excitedly, as Weiss darts out of the room again. “And _you_ just stole her pelt!”

“What?” Yang looks up sharply. “I didn’t steal anything.” A beat. “And why would I do that?”

“In the stories,” Ruby explains, “that’s what fishermen do. They steal a selkie’s pelt, and then hide it from them. It, like… forces the selkie to stay on land. So they can’t return to the ocean. So then the fishermen would force the selkie to marry them--”

“Whoa.” Yang grimaces, and darts a glance down to the unconscious woman. The very thought that someone could do that to this woman was sickening. “That’s… pretty fucked up.”

“Yeah,” Ruby agrees, making a face. “I mean, I know _you_ wouldn’t do that. But that’s what happened in the stories. They’d marry the selkie and keep her captive for years, and she’d be stuck having his babies, and-- oh, sorry, Weiss!”

Ruby sidesteps, letting Weiss pass; it’s so easy to be in each other’s way in such a cramped space, and with Yang sitting beside the bunk, there isn’t much room for the others.

“So you _actually_ think this girl’s a selkie?” Weiss asks dubiously. She passes the washcloth to Yang. “You _know_ that’s just folklore.”

“Well, what else would she be?” Ruby asks, incredulous at the disbelief. “You saw it! We all saw it! She was a _seal_!”

“So fishermen would just… enslave them?” Yang asks, carefully wiping the wound, cleansing it of the drying blood. With the uneven edges, she can’t even start to guess what might’ve made a wound like this. It’s not a clean stab-- maybe it was a mishap with fishing equipment? No wonder the sealskin was in such bad shape. “And that’s the whole legend?”

“Not quite.” Ruby holds up a single finger. “Even when they’re captured, selkies always long for the ocean. If they ever find their pelt, they’ll leave their husband and children behind without a second thought to return to the sea.”

Silences engulfs the three of them, almost oppressive in the tiny cabin. The woman on the bunk never stirs.

“Well… that’s an awful story,” Yang remarks, tossing the washcloth to the floor and pulling out the antiseptic and a pack of sutures.

“Well, that was how the legend went, anyway,” Ruby says, eyeing the woman curiously. “But who knows how much is real.”

There’s another stretch of silence as Yang disinfects the wound. She’ll have to be extra careful with suturing, what with the rocking of the boat, but she’s gone through enough medic training to know what she’s doing.

“I need to get back to the cockpit,” Weiss says stiffly, though her gaze lingers on the woman a moment longer. She shakes her head. “Ruby, you should probably work on those fish while Yang deals with… this.”

Ruby nods, setting the sealskin down on top of the trunk almost reverently. “I’ll be right there!”

“Yang, if you need anything…” Weiss begins, and Yang gives a curt nod.

“I’ll let you know.”

“Okay.”

Ruby pushes past Weiss, and Yang feels a twinge of guilt at leaving her sister to do most of the work alone. But Weiss’s expression is understanding, and she gives Yang a strained half-smile.

“Good luck,” she says, then turns, closing the door behind her, leaving Yang alone with the seal-woman.

Not a seal, Yang reminds herself. She’s just a woman. Of course there’s a logical explanation. Maybe there’s a gas leak on the boat somewhere and the three of them shared a hallucination or something. Maybe they’d only _thought_ she was a seal.

She tries not to think about that as she stitches up the wound. She can’t afford to let her mind wander when the boat is rocking, not with a needle in hand. But for all its jagged edges, the wound isn’t as big on the woman as it had been on the seal, and by the time she’s done, it looks remarkably clean.

“That should do it,” she tells the unconscious woman, rolling her gloves inside-out as she strips them off and tosses them in the trash. She pulls the blanket up to her neck, eyes softening down at her. The woman is still out cold. As an afterthought, Yang reaches down, smoothing out the woman’s salt-tangled black hair and gently combing it down over one shoulder. She’s beautiful, with delicate features and an angular jaw. Compared to Yang, she’s small, though it looks like they might be around the same age. And she looks so… normal. 

Absolutely nothing about her indicates that she’d somehow been a seal.

Yang moves to set the first-aid kit back on the storage trunk, but stops. The sealskin is still on the storage trunk, dripping wet, a puddle accumulating on the hard plastic.

She picks up the skin, setting the first-aid kit in its place, and holds it out at arm’s length. It reeks of fish, as well as the constant underlying odor that Yang associates with seawater. A few weathered scars pepper one side, which Yang assumes is the outside of the skin. The other side is completely smooth, almost like a giant sheet of kelp. It’s tapered on two ends, one of them a little more narrowly, which Yang guesses is the tail. Aside from that, there’s nothing to indicate that the whole thing formed an animal; there are no whiskers, fins, or even eye holes. It’s formless, and perfect.

Almost.

The skin is cut all the way through, like a ripped piece of leather. This is the part that’s stained with blood, darker than the brown skin. It’s even more messy than the woman’s wound, looking almost like something had punched through and had been yanked back out again, slicing all the way through to the edge of the skin. Yang shudders at the thought. Whatever it was must’ve been painful.

She folds it up, or tries to, anyway. It’s like trying to fold an uneven rug, or an extra-thick fitted sheet, and Yang’s scowling by the time she manages to wrangle it into _something_ compact. It’s not pretty, but it’s the best she can do.

A _pelt_ , if Ruby’s to be believed. Something for fishermen to steal, to keep someone ensalved. Just thinking about that makes Yang want to shudder. She hopes the truth isn’t as extreme as that, but it’s motivation for Yang to make sure it’s kept safe. She looks around, and settles at last on the unused top bunk of the other set of beds. Without another crew member, they hadn’t even bothered to furnish it with a mattress, meaning that putting the sealskin up there wouldn’t infuse anything with its smell.

She hops up onto the rail, setting the sealskin up there. Maybe after she helps Ruby with the fish, she’ll have a chance to clean it up, and wash away the blood. For now, though, it’ll be safe, and tucked out of sight.

With that settled, she moves the first-aid kit so she can dig through her storage trunk again. She finds a green flannel and pulls it on, buttoning it up before pulling the straps of her waders back up.

“I’ll come check on you in a bit,” she tells the woman needlessly, just in case someone in there can still hear her. “I gotta get some stuff done, but I’ll be back.”

The woman doesn’t respond, of course. She’s cloaked in shadow under the low-hanging bunk, secured by the rail. Yang bites her lip. She doesn’t like the idea of leaving the woman on her own, but what else can she do? Ruby and Weiss will need her help, and she’s useless to a woman who isn’t even conscious.

She forces herself to turn away, shutting out the light and closing the door behind her.

When she gets back above deck, Ruby and Weiss are busy at the fish bin, sorting through them with precise efficiency.

“...was so cute!” Ruby says, not even looking at Weiss as she prattles on. “It made me cry.”

“What did?” Yang asks, pulling her thick work gloves back on.

“A movie I saw that was about a selkie family,” Ruby replies, pulling a crab out of the bin. They’re only supposed to catch a certain variety of fish, and everything else gets discarded. She tosses it over the edge of the boat. “We should watch it when we’re done with the trip.”

“Is the supposed-selkie below deck just not enough for you?” Weiss asks, rolling her eyes. She’s clearly still got reservations; Yang wouldn’t be surprised if she’s found some kind of rational explanation for the woman already.

“I’m just saying it’d be a good idea for movie night!”

Yang smiles, though her thoughts are still stuck below deck. A part of her wants to go back downstairs and keep watch of her, which is foolish. The woman will be fine. Maybe she’ll even be awake by the time they’re done with the fish.

“When it’s your turn to pick a movie, feel free,” Weiss says icily. She turns to Yang. “You good if I go back up?”

“All set,” Yang says, nodding. “I can take over from here.”

“Good.” Weiss sighs, and strips her gloves off. “I’m not very fast at this, anyway. I belong in the cockpit.”

“You were doing great!” Ruby says encouragingly, giving her a thumbs up. “I appreciate the help!”

“Of course,” Weiss replies, in a tone that implies she’d never even _consider_ doing otherwise. That’s one of the things Yang likes about Weiss: she isn’t the type of captain who sits around giving orders. She’ll do whatever she needs to do for her crew, even if it means getting her dainty fingers dirty. “So…” she asks, “how’s she doing?”

“Well, she’s stitched up now,” Yang says, shrugging. “She hasn’t woken up yet, so I’ll go check in on her again once we’re done here. But she seems stable.”

“Good,” Weiss says, and beside them, Ruby bobs her head, still intent on her work.

“She’ll be okay!” she says cheerfully. “If anyone could bring a dead seal girl back to life, it’d be you, Yang!”

“She wasn’t dead.”

“Well, she looked it. When she was a seal, anyway.”

Yang shrugs. As much as she likes to think she’d helped the woman, she can’t help but feel they’re all somewhat responsible for her injuries in the first place. After all, it was _their_ net she’d been caught in. What if they’d drowned her? What if it was a piece of their own equipment that had wounded her?

But Weiss must be misreading the worry on Yang’s face, for she puts a hand on her arm and says, “She’ll be okay, Yang. Ruby does have a point. You’re good at taking care of people.”

“And seals, apparently,” Ruby chimes in.

Yang sighs, then manages a smile. She’s gotten good, over the years, at shoving her worries beneath the surface. Dwelling on them does nothing; it’s much better for her sanity to just skim over those thoughts.

“She’ll be okay,” Yang agrees at last.

Nothing to worry about at all.

\--

Throughout the day, Yang returns below deck and checks in on the woman. She presses a hand to the woman’s forehead to check for a fever, feels her neck for a pulse, watches her breathing to make sure it’s still regular. She peeks at the wound periodically, too, making sure it hasn’t gotten inflamed or reopened.

But each time, everything seems okay. But each time, the woman still hasn’t woken up.

The longer the woman’s out, the more Yang worries. While she’s had medic training, she’s no doctor. Maybe they _should_ try to get her to a hospital, consequences be damned. They could probably make up a story to get the woman seen. But there would still be questions, which none of them are ready to answer. No, she tells herself. As long as the woman seems stable, it’s better to give her a little time to wake up on her own.

Still, those worries gnaw at Yang’s mind as she heads back down below deck, leaving Ruby and Weiss in the cockpit to check on the unconscious woman for what seems to be the dozenth time. But what else can she _do_?

Yang is so preoccupied that when she pushes the door open, it takes her a moment to notice something’s off.

The bunk is empty.

“Huh?” she says, confused, also noticing the contents of their storage trunks strewn all over the floor. But before she can even start to imagine what it means, something _slams_ into her side, nearly knocking her off her feet.

Yang yelps, instinctively raising her arms. It’s just enough to keep her from smashing face-first into the wall, and though she’s still jarred, it hurts a lot less than it would have. With a grunt, she swings one arm back around, hoping to catch whoever’s done this, but her assailant grabs her arm, jerking it and spinning Yang back around.

Two furious gold eyes land on her. So, Yang hadn’t imagined them after all.

The woman is still only wearing Yang’s sweater, apparently unbothered by modesty. She bares her teeth at Yang.

“You--” Yang says, cut off only when the woman shoves an arm against her chest, pinning Yang into the wall. She should have been easily able to break away; the woman is smaller than Yang, less muscled, and injured. But before Yang can yank herself free, the woman presses something to her throat.

Something sharp.

The woman finally speaks, silky venom in her low voice.

“Where,” she asks, angling the knife against Yang’s throat, “ _is it_?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a little later than usual! I was sick. :( But not with covid, so it's fine! It just meant I whined a lot. :) I haven't responded to all the comments, either... but I'll get there! <3
> 
> Also, I got a couple questions from folks about the movie Ruby was talking about in the first chapter... If you guessed _Song of the Sea_ , you are absolutely right and I highly recommend it, it's absolutely magical!

“Whoa.” Eyes widening, Yang slowly raises her hands in surrender. She swallows, feeling the coldness of the blade against her throat. Just where the _hell_ had this woman found a knife? “Take it easy. If you’ll just put the knife down--”

“You do _not_ get to tell me what to do!” the woman snaps, and for emphasis, she digs it just a little bit harder into her windpipe; it’s definitely sharp, the blade longer than Yang had initially thought. “Now _where is it_?”

“Over there,” Yang exhales, hands still frozen in the air. She needs to return the sealskin, and she needs to do it quick. She gives a tiny nod of her head in the direction of the bunks. “Far bunk. Top bed.”

The woman doesn’t seem to buy it. Her golden eyes narrow, and she doesn’t turn to look in the direction of the bunks. Instead, she seizes Yang by the front of her waders, all while keeping the knife at her throat.

“You show me,” she says. She tugs on the waders, forcing Yang to step to the side and dragging her toward the bunks. As they walk, she angles herself between her and the door, cutting off the escape route, her eyes never leaving Yang’s face.

Yang winces as she steps on a book-- she hopes it isn’t her sketchbook, splayed open on the ground, that she’s just flattened. The woman must have gone through the trunks in her search for the sealskin, tossing the contents onto the floor. But this explains where the woman found the knife; Yang always keeps a spare.

But she doesn’t have long to regret that particular choice; they quickly come to a halt beside the bunks. The woman still doesn’t break her stare.

“Get it,” she orders instead.

Slowly, wordlessly, Yang reaches one hand up. She’s aware of the pressure on her throat, and something in the woman’s posture makes it very clear that she’s not afraid to use that knife; Yang’s sure that it’s already leaving a mark of some sort. But she still slides her hand along the top of the bunk, the rough wood where a mattress would normally rest.

She finds the sealskin right where she’d left it. It’s dry now, a little less smooth. The skin itself, though, is soft, and Yang’s fingertips brush the coarse hair that seems to grow from it. All this trouble… over _this_?

“Here,” Yang says, throat dry, pulling the sealskin over the rail of the bunk.

The woman finally tears her gaze away from Yang, her eyes landing on the skin. Her whole expression breaks into sheer relief.

Automatically, Yang gives her a small smile. It had all just been a misunderstanding. Now that the woman sees she’s no threat, maybe she’ll--

The sealskin is wrenched from her hands, the knife pulled away from her throat. But before Yang can say another word, the woman gives her a hard shove and, caught off-guard, Yang stumbles backward and into the bunk.

“Wait!” Yang calls, hands scrambling for purchase on the rail to keep herself upright. But it’s too late, and this lapse is all the woman needed. Without sparing Yang a second glance, the woman whirls around, darting for the door. She runs with a slight limp, probably feeling the effects of her wound, but it doesn’t stop her. She pushes through the door, disappearing from sight.

Yang doesn’t think; she charges forward, trying not to trip over the mess on the floor. The boat is small. The woman won’t get very far, and there aren’t many places to hide. Although…

She still has that knife. An icy jolt of fear makes Yang’s stomach plummet.

“Ruby!” she screams, running toward the stairs and after the woman. “Weiss!”

Adrenaline sets all of Yang’s nerves on edge, teetering on the brink. Ruby and Weiss can hold their own, she reminds herself. Two on one, especially against an injured woman, would be no sweat for them. The only reason she’d gotten the upper hand on Yang in the first place was because she’d been waiting to ambush. It would be hard for her to sneak up the stairs and into the cockpit, though, and get an edge on two people at once. Still, that knife, and the woman’s readiness to use it, are not reassuring.

...but Yang needn’t have worried.

She finds the woman standing at the stern of the boat near the fishbin, her back to Yang, stark against the setting sun. At first, Yang wonders if she’s going to jump right over the rail and back into the ocean. She takes a step closer, alarmed.

But all the woman’s doing is holding the skin out in front of herself, unfolded and smooth.

Yang comes to a stop, her heart pounding as she stares at the woman. This was the woman who’d nearly slit her throat; she can’t let her guard down again. And she _definitely_ can’t be disarmed by her unearthly beauty, her tangled hair, her long, bare legs. Yang braces herself.

The woman’s head swivels back, very slowly, landing on Yang. There’s a glassiness in her eyes. And burning _hatred_.

“What have you _done_?” she whispers to Yang. Her arms are still extended, holding the sealskin, and even though her arms drown in Yang’s sweater, it’s easy to see the way they shake.

“I didn’t do anything,” Yang replies defensively. The woman blinks those large, golden eyes just once. Realization seems to dawn, and hatred fades into resignation.

“Oh…” she murmurs, head turning back to look at the sealskin. She lowers it, defeated. There’s a deadness in her tone that wasn’t there before when she adds, “That’s… right.” A pause, then, to herself, “ _He_ did this, didn’t he?”

“Who?” Yang asks, but at that moment, she hears footsteps coming from above, down the steps from the cockpit.

“What’s going on?” Ruby asks, sounding worried, falling into place beside Yang. A second later and Weiss is there, too, watching the woman warily.

“She’s… awake,” Yang says, a bit stiffly. She notices, at least, that the woman isn’t holding the knife anymore. It’s lying on the deck by one of her bare feet, apparently dropped and forgotten.

“Are you okay?” Ruby asks, eyebrows crinkling with concern as she steps toward the woman. “I’m Ruby. And this is Weiss, and… well, you’ve met Yang.”

The woman finally turns toward them, though she takes a step back, closer to the rail of the boat, like jumping is still a possibility. She clutches the skin to her chest and regards them suspiciously, eyes lingering just a second longer on Yang.

“Where… am I?” she asks after a moment, focusing back on Ruby.

“You’re on the _Huntress_ ,” Ruby provides helpfully. “In the Gulf of Sanus.”

“The _Huntress_ ,” the woman repeats. Her brows twitch downwards. “You’re… from Vale.”

“How do you know that?” Weiss demands. She’s always uneasy with the idea of being known; an aftereffect of leaving Atlas and ripping free of her father’s leash. Weiss’s distrust is more of a reflex at this point than anything else, though, though in this case, it’s probably misplaced, and a few answers would be enough to clear the air.

But the woman doesn’t give them any. She looks away and back at the horizon, at the sparkling light off the waves. That’s where she wants to be, Yang understands, without needing to be told. The woman would rather be _anywhere_ but on this boat.

“What’s your name?” Ruby asks, a little more gently.

Though the woman doesn’t turn to look back at them, this time, she _does_ respond.

“Blake,” she says softly.

 _Blake_. It’s an unexpectedly normal-sounding name for someone with so much mystery. But it’s also perfect in its simplicity, and looking at her, Yang can’t imagine her being named anything different.

“Blake,” she says under her breath, wanting to know how the name feels to say. The woman-- Blake-- looks over at her and narrows her eyes.

“You can’t make me stay here,” she snaps, tightening her hold on the sealskin, and though she’s speaking to all of them, it’s Yang she’s watching. Even though she’s right up against the rail, she presses herself into it. It’s a threat, and Yang doesn’t doubt she’ll make good on it, and would heave herself overboard without a second thought.

“None of us are going to take your pelt,” Ruby says, her voice light and even. Though selkies and sealskins are such an odd concept, Ruby somehow makes it all sound so… _normal_. “And nobody is making you stay here. But if you want us to help you… just let us know how.”

Blake doesn’t respond; she looks back over the water again, and the shadows that are cast on her face don’t quite obscure the sadness and exhaustion.

“I… don’t know,” she mumbles. She grimaces suddenly, and presses a hand to her hip, cupping the area that Yang had stitched up. The sweater is long enough to cover it, but Yang can still imagine how it looks. “ _God_ ,” Blake whispers, and Yang takes a tentative step forward.

“You don’t need to stay here,” she reiterates, then nods down at Blake’s hip. “But for now… you should probably rest. You were hurt pretty bad, and I don’t want you to pull your stitches out.”

“Stitches,” Blake echoes, frowning. She holds out the sealskin again, analyzing it. Out here in the light, it’s very easy to see the hole that was ripped through it, and the way a tear spreads all the way to the edge of the skin. It flaps sadly in the wind, and Blake pales. She squeezes her eyes shut for a second, as if the mere sight is making her sick.

Held like this, the giant hole in the skin lines up to the exact spot of Blake’s wound. Though now, seeing the size of the hole compared to Blake herself, Yang feels almost queasy. Whatever had pierced that skin had been _big_.

“Can I ask…” Weiss says, then cuts herself off. Both Ruby and Yang glance at her, but it’s a question they’ve all been wondering.

Blake opens her mouth to speak, but before she can, her eyes glaze, then flutter shut. Her knees buckle, and starts to fall forward, the pelt dropping from her arms. Yang doesn’t wait, darting towards her and sliding to her knees, and only just manages to catch her before she hits the deck.

“What happened?” Ruby asks anxiously, stepping closer. Yang turns Blake over carefully, searching for any further sign of injury.

“Pain? Shock?” Weiss suggests, though she’s worried, too; Yang can hear it in her voice.

“A combination of those?” Yang says, thinking out loud. But Blake’s already stirring, her eyes twitching open. She groans. “Y’okay?”

“Mm.” Blake blinks slowly, reaching a hand around, searching for the sealskin by touch. Yang, biting her lip, grabs an edge of it, guiding it into Blake’s hand. When their fingers brush, Yang has to resist the urge to shiver.

“You able to stand?” she asks, voice a murmur. Blake gives a singular nod of her head.

“Yeah. I’m good.” She grimaces, but doesn’t hurry to get up, and when Yang sets a supportive hand on her arm, she doesn’t pull away.

“A little more rest is probably a good idea,” Weiss says, and though her words are brusque, she isn’t unkind. Shakily, Blake nods.

“And there’s no rush,” Ruby adds, giving her a smile. “You can think on it, if there’s anything we can do to help. Our plan was to spend a few days out here and fish, and then go back to Vale. Is that okay?”

“That’s…” Blake pauses, uncertainty flashing across her face. Then she nods again. “Yeah. That’s… probably my best bet.”

Blake doesn’t sound convinced, but it’s better than an argument. Ruby and Weiss take a step back, satisfied.

“Then go get some rest,” Ruby says warmly. “Yang can help you back to the cabin, and make sure your stitches are okay. She’s a medic, so _sometimes_ , she knows what she’s doing!”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Yang mutters with an eyeroll.

“And I should get back up to the cockpit,” Weiss says. She inclines her head toward Blake. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Yeah, and I’ll stop crowding,” Ruby adds with a laugh. “I have, like, a million questions, but… I’ll save them for later.”

“So generous,” Yang says, letting out a snort.

“Hey! It’s not every day we meet a selkie!” Ruby grins, then glances down at Blake. “That _is_ what you are, right?”

Blake sighs, but nods. Ruby positively _brightens_.

“I can’t wait to learn all about you!” she says excitedly, and Weiss elbows her. Ruby laughs, sheepish. “Another time, that is.”

“Right,” Blake says hollowly. It’s instinct that makes Yang give her arm a reassuring squeeze, and when Blake’s shoulders relax just a _little_ , she can’t even regret it.

Neither of them say a word as Ruby and Weiss walk back up to the cockpit. Yang’s not usually the type to be at a loss for words, but she is now. She scratches the back of her head, uncertain.

Blake reaches a hand out, finding the hilt of the dropped knife. It’s Yang’s own knife, she sees now, the fixed blade long and sharp, its handle wrapped in purple paracord. One of her favorites. Fixing Blake with a look, Yang holds out her hand.

“I’ll take that,” she says, no room in her tone for arguing. Blake does anyway.

“I’m holding onto this,” she replies, just as firmly. She folds the pelt over, shifting it so she can hold it one hand and the knife in the other. “Don’t worry, I won’t use it on you. Unless you give me a reason to.”

“You had that thing at my throat,” Yang reminds her, finally pushing herself back up to her feet.

“I’m keeping it.”

“You won’t even _need_ it here,” Yang says. She sweeps her arms widely in exasperation. “I _promise_ , you won’t need it with us. We’re safe.”

“No offense,” Blake replies, coldly, as she slowly rises from the deck, “but I don’t put much stock in promises.”

“I know we got off on the wrong foot, but don’t you think keeping a knife-- that you _stole_ , by the way-- is a bit overboard?”

Blake is a bit wobbly as she finds her feet and Yang steadies her, a hand on her arm for support. But that support doesn’t stop her from shooting a glare at Yang, who pulls her hand away hastily. Blake’s eyes glitter, and it’s impossible to say whether it's from fury or the setting sun.

“I was shot with a harpoon gun,” she snarls. “You _don’t_ get to say what is or isn’t _overboard_.”

Yang can only stare, gaping, as Blake limps past her, heading back below deck.

She doesn’t give Yang the knife, and Yang doesn’t ask for it again.

\--

“Well, she’s back in bed,” Yang announces, flopping onto the small bench behind the cockpit. Their rest area is pretty small, with a bench, a table, and a tiny kitchen. This is where they spend their time when they’re not actually working the boat, where they can relax and get out of the elements. Unlike the cabin they sleep in, this part of the boat has windows, and for that, feels just a little less claustrophobic.

“She settling in a little better?” Ruby asks worriedly.

“I guess you could say that.” In truth, Blake hadn’t said another word to Yang since the revelation about the harpoon gun. She’d only responded to Yang’s questions with nods and shakes of her head, and had silently acquiesced to letting Yang check her stitches, to make sure she hadn’t pulled them during the excitement on deck. After that, she’d fallen back asleep pretty quickly, not so much as twitching even when Yang rustled around the cabin, cleaning up everything Blake had thrown out of the trunks.

“Next time, feel free to give her some of my Xanax,” Weiss remarks, not turning back from her seat. “She could probably use it.”

“ _I_ could probably use it,” Yang mutters, flipping open her sketchbook. She’s got a half-finished sketch of Weiss sitting in the captain’s seat, so she tries to focus on that. She glances up at Weiss once, then back down at the sketch. “She made a mess of the cabin, looking for her pelt. Emptied our trunks out all over the floor. I put everything back, but your clothes probably aren’t folded up to your standards, Weiss.”

This makes Ruby snort, and Weiss only shakes her head, her white braid bouncing. “Figures. At least we weren’t planning on being out here long. We didn’t bring _too_ much stuff for her to ruin.”

“And we’ll be back in Vale in just a couple days!” Ruby adds, swinging her arm cheerfully.

Yang bobs her head aimlessly, and taps the eraser on the open page. Her heart really isn’t on the sketch; her attention is so fleeting that she’d given up on that sketch before she’d even opened her book again. Instead, she moves to an empty space on the page. She doesn’t have anything in mind, and sketches a neutral circle instead. A start, if nothing else.

“So I guess Blake got shot with a harpoon,” she says casually. Ruby looks up from her phone, and Weiss’s head snaps back around.

“A _harpoon_?” Weiss asks, disbelieving. Yang nods, grimacing as she meets her eyes.

“She didn’t exactly give me the details… but she did say that much.”

“That’s _insane_ ,” Ruby says quietly, anger snaking into her voice. “Did they think she was a tuna or something?”

“She looked nothing _like_ a tuna,” Weiss adds, her jaw tightening. “Even as a seal, it’s obvious that she wasn’t something you could shoot with a _harpoon_.”

“I… think it might’ve been personal,” Yang says. She pauses. “She said it was a _him_ and… I dunno.” Another pause. “Maybe someone’s trying to steal her pelt.”

“To a point where they’d harpoon her?” Weiss demands. “Is someone _that_ desperate for a selkie bride that they’d risk _killing_ her?”

“I don’t know,” Yang replies honestly. With each stroke of her pencil, the circle is slowly taking on form. “I’m just telling you my guess.”

For a moment, the three of them say nothing as they digest the information. Everything that day has been hard to take in-- a seal dropping out of their nets, a woman being pulled out of its skin, the _existence_ of selkies, the implications of someone trying to steal her pelt-- it’s all almost too much.

“Well, we’ll get her back to Vale,” Weiss says, turning back to look out over the darkened skies and open water. “We’ll figure out something by then.”

“Right,” Yang says. Her little circle has become a singular, nondescript eye. “If she wants to get out of town, we could buy her a bus ticket or something.”

“I’m not sure where selkies like to go in their free time,” Ruby says thoughtfully. “ _Will_ she have somewhere she can go?”

“Not our problem,” Yang says, not looking up. “If she wants to leave, we can’t stop her. She’s an adult who can make her own choices. Whatever she wants to do is out of our hands.”

“Still…” Ruby makes a face. “I wish we could do something more for her.”

Yang nods, but says nothing more. She isn’t going to let herself get invested in Blake or her problems. She’s only here to make sure Blake heals; anything else ultimately won’t matter to her, especially when Blake leaves them. Selkies and pelts and the people who hunt them are all way above her paygrade.

“ _Selkies_ ,” Ruby adds with a dreamy sigh, slumping against Yang. “It makes you wonder what else is out there, doesn’t it? What else the ocean might be hiding from us? Maybe mermaids are next! Leviathans! _Krakens_! There’s some pretty amazing stuff when you get deep enough.”

“Not really,” Yang replies, pausing long enough to give her a nudge with her elbow. “The last time we went down that particular Wikipedia rabbit hole, we found out how sperm whales sleep. The abyss can keep as many secrets as she wants to.”

“Well, you’re no fun,” Ruby tuts, bouncing right back up. “And for your _information_ , I think it’s majestic, how they sleep!”

Yang rolls her eyes, hard. “As majestic as Slenderman.”

Ruby giggles as she returns her focus to her phone, and Yang hears the cheerful intro music of a mobile game. Yang considers joining her on it, then dismisses the idea. Her thoughts are too full, too fast, all revolving around the woman below deck.

It’s just concern, Yang tells herself, pressing her pencil harder against the paper. She’s only worried, about her health, and her stitches, and whoever is chasing her. But it’s all worries that will fade. She doesn’t need to dwell on them any more than she has to.

Still…

Yang frowns at the sketch; she thought she was just drawing a random eye, but apparently her subconscious had other plans. Because even through the grayscale of pencil… Yang swears she can see gold in the iris.

Gritting her teeth, she drops her pencil and slams the book shut.

\--

Yang had thought that, over the course of the fishing trip, her thoughts about Blake would slow down. That Blake’s presence on the boat would feel more normal and routine, easy to ignore. But that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Every moment she spends on deck, her worries for Blake continue to thrum on in the back of her mind. It’s less an obsession and more like a simple constant, a bass beat rather than melody, as steady as a heartbeat.

Blake stays in her bunk, never engaging in conversation. She eats the meals they bring her, and gets up to use the bathroom, and allows Yang to look at the stitches in the morning. Aside from that, she does nothing, and says nothing. She’s just another silent fixture on the boat, one that should’ve faded easily into the scenery.

But if that’s the case, why can’t Yang get her out of her head?

The second day after they found Blake in the water, Yang sits in the cockpit, phone in her hand, just as the sun is starting to rise. The world around them is a strange, ethereal grey so early in the morning, and Yang keeps an eye on the navigation while Weiss and Ruby catch some sleep. Though the autopilot system keeps them on course, it still requires supervision, in case they end up drifting off-track, which means someone needs to be alert at all times. But she’ll catch a nap of her own later, once Weiss wakes up. For now, she’s more than happy to watch the sun rise.

A flicker of motion down on deck catches Yang’s attention. She peers over, and is surprised by what she sees: Blake, the pelt folded over her arm, leaning against the rail and staring into the grey horizon. She’s still wearing Yang’s sweater, though her legs are still bare. In the dim light, she looks like a mere shadow, a ghost. Yang’s eyebrows shoot up.

Blake hasn’t come above deck since the day they’d caught her, when she’d made her bid for freedom. Seeing her standing there like this, such a forlorn figure against the sea, Yang’s hands itch toward her sketchbook. She forces herself to resist the urge.

She considers for a moment, then pushes herself out of her seat. It would probably be wiser to leave Blake alone, to allow her to dwell in her own solitude and reflect on the ocean in peace. But all of it just seems too _sad_. At the very least, Yang reasons, she should make sure Blake is okay.

“Hey,” she says, stepping lightly down the steps. Blake stiffens, and glances over her shoulder back at her. Yang sees the glint of the knife in her hand now, and she’s relieved that she thought to announce her presence this time; she doesn’t want another knife at her throat. “You’re up early.”

Blake shrugs one shoulder, then turns back to the ocean. Silence.

“So, how’re you feeling?” Yang asks brightly, leaning against the rail beside her. “Stitches okay?”

Blake nods. More silence.

“Uh…” Yang says, scratching the back of her head. She’s never been great at smalltalk. She glances down at Blake’s bare legs, and, without thinking, adds, “So… d’you… not like pants, or something?”

Blake aloofness cracks, and she shoots Yang an appalled look. Okay, so maybe _that_ hadn’t been what Yang had meant to ask, and her face burns.

“I mean!” she says quickly. “We set some out for you-- on my trunk, anyway-- they’re just sweatpants, so they’re nothing fancy, but…”

Blake stares at her, impassive. Yang lets out a nervous laugh.

“I just thought… it’s kinda cold out here! And if you’re not wearing pants… I mean, if you’re more comfortable that way, I’m not judging, but, uh… I could get them for you, if you want. The sweatpants. If you’re cold.”

Blake blinks once, slowly. Then, for the first time since Yang’s known her, the corners of her mouth twitch upward in a somber smile.

For a moment, Yang is dumbstruck. Though the smile is far from lighthearted, it makes the hostility ebb from her eyes. It’s a beautiful smile, and after everything Blake’s been through, it’s a relief to see that she’s even capable of smiling at all.

“It’s… okay,” Blake says. She turns back toward the ocean, and the wind catches in her long, tangled hair. “To be honest, I didn’t really think about it. But it doesn’t matter to me. The cold feels… refreshing.”

“Like the ocean?” Yang asks stupidly, and immediately wants to kick herself. What kind of question was that? But Blake’s still smiling, and even though it’s more like a shadow, Yang is grateful to see it at all.

“In a way,” Blake replies. 

There’s another pause, a small lapse of silence, but this time, it doesn’t feel overwhelming, or cold. This is an easier silence, more comfortable. Yang leans back against the rail, letting herself relax a bit.

“I was going a little stir-crazy. Being cooped up in the cabin,” Blake finally admits. “I needed some fresh air.”

“You don’t have to stay in the cabin, y’know. You’re not locked in.”

Blake shrugs, but Yang thinks she understands the hesitancy. They’re all strangers to her. They’re all strangers on a tiny boat, and even under the best of circumstances, it’s probably hard to feel comfortable. Yang clears her throat.

“So, uh… we’ll be getting back to Vale tomorrow,” she says, nonchalant.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Yang licks her lips, and tastes sea salt. “And Weiss and Ruby and I were talking a bit. We don’t really know what selkies do when they’re not in the ocean, but if you need any help… we could pay for cab fare, or a bus ticket out of town, if that’s what you need. We don’t have much, but it’s better than hitchhiking, right?”

“I probably wouldn’t make a very good hitchhiker,” Blake agrees, with a small huff that _might_ have been a laugh. “But I think I’ll be okay.” Carefully, keeping the knife in her hand, Blake unfolds the pelt. It’s still stained with blood along the ripped edges, though the skin itself looks soft and pliable instead of stiff, which is what Yang would’ve expected from something that had been drenched in seawater and then air-dried.

 _Sealskin_ , Yang reminds herself. Of course it won’t act like an ordinary piece of clothing.

“I’ve got a… connection in the Wharf District,” Blake tells her, studying her pelt. “And I think she’ll be able to help me mend my skin.”

“Really?”

“As it is now… I can’t transform,” Blake explains, shifting the knife to her other hand in order to run her fingers along the tear. “Regular wounds-- scratches, scrapes-- are easy to heal from. Just as easy as regular skin can. But when a wound goes deep enough to hit my core…”

“Oh.” Yang bites the inside of her cheek, thinking of the wound she’d stitched up. “Do you… want me to sew it back up, then?”

Blake shakes her head, looking regretful. “A selkie’s skin can’t just be sewn back together. It’s… a bit more involved than that.”

“So something I can’t help with.”

“Right.” But then Blake gives a firm shake of her head. She folds the sealskin once more, draping it over her arm. Then, she shifts her eyes back to Yang, studying her with as much intensity as she’d studied her skin. “But why should I tell you any of this?” she asks humorlessly. “None of this means anything to you.”

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” Yang says. “But if you just need to, like, think out loud for a bit… I can still listen, even if I don’t really understand.”

Slowly, Blake looks away, going back to gazing over the ocean, silence drifting between them once more. Sensing that Blake has something more to say, Yang doesn’t move, simply taking in the sounds of the sea: the lapping of the water, the wind whipping around them, the dull roar of the boat’s motor. Newborn sunlight sparkles on the caps of the waves, and already, it feels like a perfect day for fishing.

With a sigh, Yang straightens back up and pushes herself away from the rail. She won’t overstay her lukewarm welcome.

“Well… I’ll leave you to it, then,” she says, keeping her tone light. “I’m glad you’re feeling all right.”

She turns, beginning to stride toward the cockpit.

“Wait,” Blake says. 

Yang turns back around, eyebrow raised. Blake tilts her head head, strange suspicion creeping back into her face. The breeze catches in her hair, and it billows around her. 

“You’re a fisherman,” she says. “And you know what I am.”

“Yeah?”

“So why did you let me keep my skin?”

This wasn’t the question Yang had expected. She folds her arms, wary, eyes narrowing. “Other than because you had a knife at my throat?”

Blake cracks a dark smile. “You could’ve taken it back, you know. Gotten the others to help restrain me. Lock me up. Hide my skin.” She pauses. “You still could.”

“I’m not like that,” she says firmly, her frown deepening. “None of us are. Me, Weiss, Ruby… we’re not that kind of people.”

“That’s what people like to say, isn’t it?” Blake says, an edge of bitterness in her voice. “Until the temptation is there, right in front of them, free for the taking. And all you have to do… is make one, quick choice.”

She says the last words slowly, enunciating each one like an item on a will. Yang’s mouth opens slightly, her heart hurting without really knowing why.

“I’m not going to keep your skin,” Yang tells her, with just as much slowness and articulation. “None of us are.”

“Why?” Blake demands again.

“Look,” Yang says, sighing. “That’s just… not right, y’know? Forcing someone to marry me.”

“What?” Blake blinks, confused.

“I’m not like the fishermen in the stories, Blake,” Yang replies, exasperated. “I’m not going to steal a selkie’s skin to force them into marriage. I would _never_ do that. Call me a romantic, but if I marry a woman someday, it’ll be because we love each other. _Not_ because I forced her into it.”

Blake seems almost bewildered by Yang’s outburst, the suspicion swept away from her face, her mouth in an _o_ of surprise. It’s a cute look, Yang thinks guiltily.

“The stories…” Blake repeats, nodding slowly. “I… Yeah.”

“And you don’t need to worry about Weiss or Ruby, either,” Yang adds quickly, feeling color fill her cheeks. “Weiss already has a girlfriend, and Ruby is… well, she doesn’t really have much interest in marriage. So you’re safe with us. _Really_.”

“Right,” Blake says, expression seeming to lighten. She even has the beginnings of a smile twitching to life, and it’s a comforting sight.

“So just… take it easy, okay?” Yang says softly. “Just rest, and focus on getting better. If you need our help when you get to Vale, we’ll do what we can. But please, don’t think for even a minute that we’re planning to keep you here against your will. Okay?”

“Okay,” Blake echoes.

With a nod, Yang finally turns toward the stairs. And, again, Blake calls to her.

“Yang?”

“Yeah?” Yang asks, looking back over her shoulder.

“I’m… sorry I threatened you the other day,” Blake says, shifting her weight uncertainly. “I...”

She trails off, at an apparent loss for what to say. Yang gives her what she hopes is a reassuring smile.

“It’s okay,” she says. “No harm done, right?”

And, to be perfectly honest, Yang can’t blame Blake for her actions that day. After everything she’d been through, and waking up in a strange place, without the one thing that was crucial to her freedom… Yang can’t be certain that she wouldn’t have done the exact same thing.

Hesitantly, Blake returns the smile.

It’s the kind of smile that follows Yang all the way back to the cockpit. She flops into the seat, feeling strangely light as she picks up her sketchbook.

There’s no reason for the lightness at all. No reason for the lightness, or the giddiness, or the eagerness.

None at all.

She glances back down at Blake, framed by sunlight. She smiles again, and starts to draw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGE shout-out to a couple artists who are already drawing fanart!! 
> 
> The user @Forest._.Creature sketched out a who sketched out a comic from the first chapter, and when I say I FELL ON THE FLOOR... Anyway, here is [Part One](https://twitter.com/Momma_Forest/status/1333210380475232256), [Part Two](https://twitter.com/Momma_Forest/status/1333518460383612930), and [Part Three](https://twitter.com/Momma_Forest/status/1333626269389496323)! Thank you so much!!
> 
> The user @Beedeux drew [selkie!Blake](https://twitter.com/Beedeux1/status/1336456819011547136)! I absolutely ADORE this, it came out so beautifully and I love it so much!! Thank you!!
> 
> And, as always, thank you, [Aziminil](https://aziminil.tumblr.com/) for being my handy-dandy beta-reader!


	3. Chapter 3

They arrive in Vale early the next morning, when there’s still fog rising off the water and sweeping through the sleepy town. The grey buildings of the Wharf District are almost impossible to see among the smoke and shadows, but as they get closer, the buildings become easier to make out.

Located in the northernmost corner of Sanus, Vale is small, as far as cities go. It’s a cold, unyielding place, as hard as the fishermen who built it. After all, only the toughest people can eke out a living in such an environment. Very few people would ever go so far as to call the rocky coast of Vale _home_ , but right now, as Yang looks over the barren trees, the cranes, the smoke rising from chimneys, she almost feels like one of them.

She whistles as they approach port, leaning against the rail of the boat and already imagining how nice her bed will be when she can finally crawl back into it. It’s hard to feel fully rested on the boat, when one of them has to be awake at all times in order to monitor the steering. That, and the thin, cramped bunks make it hard to get a good night’s sleep. She’s looking forward to getting back to their apartment, changing into her pajamas, and sleeping for two days.

“Almost the end of the line for you, huh, Blake?” she calls, looking over her shoulder. Blake’s standing at the top of the stairs that lead below deck, watching the approaching coastline warily.

For all the solemnity of her expression, her outfit is adorably mismatched. Since she had nothing to wear, Yang, Weiss, and Ruby cobbled together a new outfit from their own wardrobes: a pair of jeans that are a little too short, a baggy jersey that Ruby had liked to sleep in, and an oversized zip-up hoodie of Yang’s that’s definitely seen better days. It’s a cute look for her, but that’s a thought that’ll never pass Yang’s lips.

“Yeah,” Blake says distantly. “It is.”

Yang’s grin fades somewhat, but she lets it go. As soon as they get to the dock, it won’t matter anyway. Blake will leave, and they’ll never see each other again.

Blake will be nothing more than a memory.

The docks are busy, even so early in the morning. There are day fishermen setting out, night fishermen coming in, and countless dockworkers bustling around. Still, the sleepy undertones from the main city reach out onto the docks, making everything feel just a little bit subdued.

Not that it affects their energy. Yang and Ruby lean into the railing, whooping as the boat nears the unloading dock. Blake, however, shrinks in on herself as she surveys the area, pulling her hood up over her head like she’s trying to stay out of sight.

Which she probably is, Yang figures. She doesn’t trust fishermen, and with good reason. And who knows? As far as she knows, maybe one of these very fishermen were the ones who shot a harpoon into Blake. The thought sends a chill down Yang’s spine. Surely nobody in _Vale_ would be capable of such a thing.

Then again… plenty of the fishermen are unsavory types, and Yang’s heard enough stories of rotten ones. The kinds who abandon their spouses for long fishing trips, returning with a fat paycheck that they drink away. Yang’s worked with a few of them, with their mean tempers and insufferable sexism and superiority complexes. But she didn’t think any of them would be capable of harpooning someone known to be a human. This is a new level of psychopathy that she can’t even comprehend.

And it’s hopefully something she’ll never have to witness firsthand.

The four of them step off the gangway, onto the strange stability of the dock. After days at sea on a small, rocking boat, there’s always an adjustment that comes when she’s back on land, and she catches herself swaying slightly. She sighs, stretching her arms over her head and closing her eyes, getting used to the steadiness again.

Blake, though, stumbles. Maybe it's just a misstep off the gangplank, or maybe Blake isn’t used to the adjustment of dry land. Either way, Yang snaps around, bracing a hand on her shoulder and keeping her from tripping too far.

“Y’okay?” she asks, and Blake nods. She folds her arms, still keeping her head lowered as she looks back up at Yang, doing everything she can to minimize her own presence.

“Well,” Ruby says, letting out a small, nervous laugh, “We need to start unloading. So this is probably where we should part ways, huh?”

“Oh,” Blake replies, sounding startled. She looks from Yang to Ruby, then back to Yang. “That’s probably a good idea.”

“You gonna be okay out there?” Yang asks, trying to sound _too_ concerned. Blake’s a grown woman, she reminds herself. She knows what she’s doing.

“I’ll be fine,” she says simply. She cinches the straps of her (Weiss’s) drawstring bag even tighter; Yang knows the sealskin is packed away inside, safe and sound. “I know someone who’ll help me stitch my skin back together, and I’ll finally be free.”

Yang smiles, heartened by the cautious optimism in Blake’s voice. Beside her, Weiss takes a step forward, reaching into the back pocket of her jeans.

“Here,” Weiss says, matter-of-factly, pulling a few cards of lien out of her wallet. She hands them to Blake. “To get you started.”

Yang’s eyebrows shoot up at the amount Weiss is holding out; it’s not a massive sum by any means, but more than she would’ve expected someone so miserly to give to a total stranger. Maybe it’s guilt that’s fueling Weiss’s generosity, or maybe a grudging sense of responsibility, but either way, it surprises Yang. Just when she thought she had Weiss figured out, she pulls something like this. It's endearing, in its own way.

Blake reaches a hand out toward the lien, pauses, then pulls it back. She gives Weiss a strange, soft smile as she shakes her head.

“Thank you, but I don’t need it,” she replies. “You’ve done enough for me already. All of you.”

She lets her gaze fall on each of them in turn. Yang’s stomach flutters when it lands on her, and she could almost swear that it’s there for just a second longer than the others.

“Don’t be foolish,” Weiss snaps, though her cheeks are pink. “You can’t last in a city like Vale without at least a _little_ money.”

“I’ll be fine,” Blake says evenly. “I have a… friend around here who runs a bait shop. She’ll help me get my skin mended, and figure out what to do next. Selkies… we take care of our own.”

Yang frowns, but doesn’t argue; what would _she_ know about selkies and what they do? Blake doesn’t seem worried, and that’s all that matters, she supposes.

“Well, if you need anything, we’ll be here for a bit!” Ruby says. “If you change your mind, you know where to find us.”

“Thanks,” Blake says again, fingering the straps of her bag again. She takes a step back, still watching them from under her hood. “I’ll be on my way, then.”

“Okay,” Ruby says, nodding. “Take care, Blake.”

“And if you _do_ need help, don’t hesitate to ask,” Weiss adds.

“Yeah,” Yang says lamely. Blake nods, and takes another step back. 

She watches them for another moment, evaluating, like she’s waiting for one of them to lunge after her, or chase her.

Even after all this, Yang thinks sadly, she still doesn’t trust them to let her leave.

Finally, Blake turns, ducking her head low. Some of her dark hair falls out from beneath the hood, and Yang gets only a glimpse of it, and the brief flash of her gold eyes, before she darts away from them.

She slips past the throngs of fishermen, and out of sight.

“Guess that’s the end of _that_ fairy tale, huh?” Ruby says with a sigh, turning back toward the boat. Yang nods, and doesn’t respond.

End of a fairy tale, indeed.

\--

An hour later, and they’re almost done unloading the catch. Yang grunts with effort as she takes the bin Ruby lowers down to her. It’s heavy with dead fish, and though she’s strong, her arms are starting to ache; this had been a very productive fishing trip, and under any other occasion, Yang would be daydreaming about the size of her paycheck.

But not today.

Instead, her thoughts keep flitting back to Blake. She wonders how she’s faring, if she’s found her friend, if she’s figured out how to repair her sealskin. She’s still got Yang’s knife, which Yang didn’t remember until long after she’d disappeared into the city. At this point, though, she doesn’t even mind. Maybe Blake will remember her every time she holds that knife. Selfishly, Yang hopes that she does.

“Earth to Yang!” Ruby calls down. “Hellooo!”

“What?” Yang asks, looking up sharply. Ruby snorts.

“We’re about done!” she replies, passing down one last bin. “So if you wanna let Weiss know?”

“You bet.” Yang nods, taking the bin, then hollers, “Oy, Weiss! That’s all!”

“ _I_ coulda done that,” Ruby mutters, stripping off her gloves and tossing them to the side.

Weiss looks over from where she’s talking to the dealer of the fish house, and shoots a glare at Yang. Amused, Yang returns it with a thumbs up and a wink.

“Mind giving me a hand with this?” Ruby asks, jutting a thumb towards the deck. Before Yang can nod, Ruby whirls around, disappearing further into the boat, already anticipating a _yes_. 

Yang snorts and turns back toward the gangplank, but nearly jumps as she comes face-to-face with two fishermen.

“Jesus Christ,” she mutters, scowling at them. “Can I _help_ you?”

“Apologies, Miss Xiao Long, for startling you,” one of them said, his voice almost spookily calm. Yang’s frown deepens. These men are vaguely familiar, but she can’t place their names; it’s unsettling that they seem to know hers.

“We saw the _Huntress_ returned to port this morning,” the second man says, nodding toward the boat. He presses his palms together, as if in prayer. “We hope that you had a fruitful catch.”

“Uh-huh…” Yang folds her arms, suspicious. “Did you need something?”

The two men glance briefly at each other, perhaps surprised by her brashness, though their expressions remain curiously bland.

“Forgive us, I don’t believe we’ve formally introduced ourselves,” the first man says. “My name is Corsac Albain, and this is my brother, Fennec. We’re with the _White Fang_.”

Yang, still frowning, nods. She recognizes the name of the boat, though the _Huntress_ seldom crosses paths with it. The _White Fang_ is a bigger boat, and tends to hunt more lucrative fish than a trawler could catch. Though going after bluefin tuna and the elusive sea feilong are more of a gamble than simple pollock, the payoff is much greater; it’s a gamble that’s made the people on the _White Fang_ wealthy, but one that’s also made them arrogant.

Yang waits, wary.

“We’ve been spreading the word,” Corsac goes on, “about a missing crewmember of ours.”

“Oh, shit. You had someone go missing?” Irritation shifts to concern, and Yang uncrosses her arms. The men bow their heads.

“A most unfortunate occurrence,” Fennec says, his low voice almost a drone. “We’ve been making the rounds around port, and hope that everyone will be on the lookout.”

“Of course!” Yang replies, nodding. “Who is it?”

“We have flyers,” Fennec says, slipping a hand into his pocket. “It has all her identifying information, as well as a phone number to call if she's located.”

He hands Yang a folded sheet of paper, and she nods as she starts to open it. “Of course. I’ll keep my eye out and let you know if--” She looks down at the flyer, and immediately cuts herself off.

A picture of Blake’s face looks back up at her, smileless and dull.

“Have you seen her?” Corsac asks, a hint of eagerness in his monotone. Yang blinks, then shakes her head.

“No,” she says, as naturally as she can. She schools her expression, tries to look only curious. “I just didn’t know you had any women on your ship. I thought I knew all the fisherwomen around here.”

“Ah,” Corsac replies. “We do have a couple women on board, but Miss Belladonna always tends to keep to herself. She’s what you might consider a… _sensitive_ individual. Vulnerable. That’s why we’re worried about her disappearance.”

“So she just... vanished?” Yang asks, as nonchalantly as she can. She looks back down at the flyer. _Have you seen this woman?_ the top reads. Then, below the picture, _Blake Belladonna_.

“We’d just set out to sea when we realized she was no longer on board,” Fennec explains smoothly. “We suspect she’s still in Vale.”

“So you sailed off without a member of your crew?” Yang asks doubtfully.

“A most unfortunate occurrence,” Fennec says, for a second time.

“Unfortunate,” Corsac sighs, “but not unprecedented. Our captain is a timely man, and is often in a rush to leave port. Miss Belladonna was probably running late, and got left behind.”

“Have you tried calling her, or anything?” Yang asks, carefully folding the flyer and shoving it in her pocket. Weiss and Ruby will want to see it. “It shouldn’t be too hard to track her down, right?”

“She isn’t answering her calls, I’m afraid."

"We fear that she may have gotten herself into trouble, or even hurt somehow," Fennec adds. Yang frowns at the mild suggestion; what do these men know? Uneasiness roils in her stomach; they're trying to feed her blatant lies.

"Have you called the police?" Yang asks.

"Of course," Fennec replies smoothly. "And they're doing the best they can. But Miss Belladonna has reason to be suspicious of authority, which is why we're asking the local fishermen to keep an eye out, as well. We've been checking in on the places we think she might go, but the more eyes looking for her, the more luck we'll have. Isn't that right?"

Yang’s brows furrow, and she nods. “I’ll be sure to let the rest of the crew know about this, then,” she tells them placatingly.

“Thank you, Miss Xiao Long,” Corsac says, inclining his head towards her. “If you learn of her whereabouts, the number to call is on the flyer.”

“Will do!” Yang says, somehow infusing a little cheer into her tone. "I'm sure you'll find her."

"Your help is most appreciated," Fennec says, as warmly as his bland voice allows him to be. "Truly, the kindness of the fishermen here is unparalleled. With everyone working together, I know Miss Belladonna will be returned to us soon, safe and sound."

It might just be because of the timbre of his voice, but that last statement sounds more ominous than he probably intended. A chill runs down Yang's spine as the men turn away, striding away with their heads lowered.

Yang's got no time to lose. As soon as they're out of sight, she runs up the gangplank; she's got to tell Ruby about this, and Weiss.

She needs to warn Blake that someone's looking for her.

\--

_Wharf District. Bait shop._

Those are all the details Yang has. She glances up from her phone, the adrenaline making her jittery. She needs to find Blake before the people from the _White Fang_ do. She just hopes she's not too late.

She looks back down at her phone, at the list of bait shops she's pulled up. Blake has to be in one of them, or at least near one. Not all of the shops are open yet-- it's still early in the morning, after all-- but that might make Blake easier to find, if she's not actually inside yet. It's just the matter of finding the _right_ shop.

This shop is the third one she's visited, and the _Sorry, We're Closed_ sign is still facing the front, the windows dark. While there's a few people in the streets, probably bustling off to work, this street isn't particularly busy. It's easy to pick apart the different people, and see that none of them are Blake.

Not that Yang stops there. She casually peeks down the alleyways, looks into the windows of a coffeeshop. Blake is too careful to stay out in the open; surely she's keeping out of sight somewhere, waiting for the shop to open.

But before long, Yang's exhausted every possible hiding spot on the block. She sighs, leaning against a lamp post and opening her phone again.

She doesn't have a plan, exactly. She'd shown Ruby and Weiss the flyer, then immediately set off to look for Blake. Corsac and Fennec had been lying about Blake; that much was certain. Blake hadn't just been left behind in Vale. She wasn't some shy, vulnerable crewmate; someone had been _hunting_ her, to the point of shooting her with a harpoon. No, whatever Corsac and Fennec had planned for her would be much more sinister. The crew of the _White Fang_ probably knew what she was, if they'd shot her in seal form. Hell, as a tuna boat, they even have the harpoons that would've shot her. It all makes sense.

They were going to steal her pelt, Yang thinks with a shiver. Why else would they be chasing her?

Yang doesn't quite _run_ to the next shop, but she does move briskly. They'd said that they knew she'd come to Vale, and would check the places they thought she might go… would they know about whatever bait shop she was going to? She picks up her pace. What if they were there already? What if they were watching it _now_?

Yang comes to a halt in front of the next bait shop. This one, too, is dark, the shades drawn. She sighs, then sets off down the street. There's a Starbucks nearby that maybe--

Something grabs her from behind, yanking her sharply back. Yang staggers, feels an arm wrap around her, pressing something sharp against her throat as she's dragged into the alley. This would be enough to make any sane person piss their pants, but Yang manages a strained smile.

"We have to stop meeting like this," she mutters.

"Why are you following me?" Blake hisses. She gives Yang a shove, sending her stumbling further into the alleyway.

Blake blocks the entrance to it, tapping Yang's bare knife against her palm. She glares as Yang stands, adjusting her stance and holding the knife out in front of her, like she's anticipating an attack. It makes Yang's smile fade; she understands now that Blake's paranoia is well-founded.

" _I'm_ not the one following you!" Yang blurts, then pauses. "I mean, I did follow you, but it was to warn you."

Blake lowers the knife slightly, dark eyebrows drawing together in concern. After a second, she lets her arm drop completely. She hesitates, then pulls back her hood, her long black hair loosening and falling free.

"What?"

"Just a little while ago," Yang goes on, automatically looking over Blake's shoulder; maybe that paranoia was contagious. "Some guys came up to me, said that they were looking for you." She digs into her pocket and pulls out the flyer, then hands it out to Blake. "Here."

She hesitates, then takes it. Frowning, she reads it over, and Yang watches the blood drain from her face.

"Fuck," Blake mutters, setting her jaw as she crumples the flyer in her fist. "Of course they knew I'd come back to Vale."

"What's going on?" Yang asks. Blake pulls back, and turns around to glance back toward the mouth of the alley. She's checking the bait shop with an increased degree of desperation, her muscles tense, one hand clutching tightly to her drawstring bag like she's afraid it'll disappear.

"It'll be fine," Blake says, more to herself than to Yang. She shifts her weight onto her other foot, nerves plain. "Once I'm inside, it'll all be fine."

"They told me they know where you might go," Yang says slowly, watching her. "Do they know about this place?"

"No," Blake says almost instantly. She doesn't look back at Yang, only continues to watch the entrance of the closed bait shop. "Ilia keeps a low profile. I'd trust her with my life."

"Are you _sure_?" Yang prods, but this time, Blake doesn't even dignify it with a response. Yang scowls. "They said they've been asking all the other boats at port, Blake. They said you're _vulnerable_. If just one person recognizes you, and calls that number… Dammit, Blake, they say you're a missing _crew member_!"

At this, Blake stiffens. She glances back over her shoulder, glaring at Yang before looking forward again.

" _Were_ you a part of the White Fang's crew?" Yang asks curiously.

Again, Blake says nothing. But Yang sees the change in posture, senses her ready to move again. Without another word, Blake pulls her hood back up, then darts away, moving quickly across the street.

Sighing, Yang follows.

"Someone's gonna recognize you," she tells Blake under her breath, following a few short steps behind. "This district is swarming with fishermen, and if those men really passed out flyers to every boat… you're gonna get caught."

"I won't."

"You _will_!" Yang gestures widely with her arm, exasperated. "This is a _bait shop_ , for fuck's sake. The only people who come here _are_ fishermen! God, and if they end up filing a missing person's report--"

"Shut _up_ ," Blake snaps as they reach the door. She whirls around, glaring at Yang again. "You don't know me. You don't know _anything_ about this. Why do you _care_?"

"I don't," Yang says automatically, jaw clenching. Too many thoughts are crashing against her, and that's a dam she'll keep fortified at all costs. Blake isn't even chipping at the mortar.

For a moment, Blake's eyes bore into her, searching for truth in that lie. And maybe she finds something (or thinks she does), because her gaze softens the barest amount.

"Look," she says, the edge smoothed out of her tone. "I'm sorry. I know you're worried, after everything that's been going on, and I _do_ appreciate the warning. It's just… selkies have kept themselves hidden for thousands of years. We're used to it. Once I'm with Ilia, she'll use all her resources to help keep me safe. Selkies take care of their own."

She smiles then, an attempt at reassurance. Yang, still scowling, looks away from it, not wanting to be tempted. But then she feels a hand slipping into her own, and a gentle squeeze that makes Yang look back up, startled at the contact.

"If it makes you feel better," Blake says patiently, "you can come with me inside, and meet Ilia for yourself. You'll see I'm in good hands, and that nobody's going to try to whisk me away. Then you can go home happy, and tell Ruby and Weiss that I'm all right, and none of you will have to worry. That sound good?"

Blake is only saying this to humor her, and she probably doubts Yang would want to go so far as to follow her in. Yang finds her glower again, and fixes it on Blake.

"I can keep an eye out," she replies stubbornly. "In case you need any help." She pauses. "I'm sure Ruby and Weiss will be happy to know I've confirmed that you're okay."

She half-expects Blake to fight, but instead, she only nods. "All right," she says serenely, letting go of Yang's hand. Then, to Yang's surprise, she pulls out the knife, offering it handle-first to her.

"What's this for?" Yang asks, frowning.

"I'm not going to need this anymore," she says, extending it closer to Yang. "This is how sure I am of Ilia. Of my own safety. I'm… sorry that I stole it from you."

Wordlessly, Yang takes it. The purple paracord around the handle feels so familiar and worn beneath her fingers. Her favorite knife. It's good to have it back.

At least, that's what she tells herself.

"Besides," Blake adds, a corner of her mouth teasing upwards with a smirk. "If Ilia deems you a threat… you'll need it."

With that, she pushes the door open, before Yang can even shut her gaping mouth.

Bells jingle overhead as they enter, ringing merrily as they head in. A typical sound in small shops, but all they do is set Yang on edge. She shuts the door behind her quickly, then leans over to the window, glancing outside at the empty streets.

To anyone but a fisherman, this place would reek. But to Yang, a bait shop's a bait shop, and it's a familiar smell, simply reminding her of work. Bright tackle hangs on the wall, and the sound of trickling water drowns out most other noises of the city, the water filtration of the fish tanks as soothing as any of those zenlike fountains rich people pay good money for. Yang's been to countless bait shops throughout her lifetime, and all of them had a certain degree of homeyness to them. This one is no different.

"Ilia?" Blake calls out uncertainly.

"Coming!" a new voice says. Yang looks over in time to see a freckled woman poke her head out of a back room, peering behind a curtain. When she sees Blake, her eyes widen. " _Blake?_ "

The woman, who must be Ilia, pushes her way past the curtain, hurrying over. Blake smiles tiredly at her, though neither woman make a move to hug the other. Instead, they both reach out a hand, clasping the other's arm, and lean their heads in. At first, Yang wonders if they might kiss, but no, all they do is press their foreheads together, and close their eyes.

They pull away after a moment, and Ilia looks Blake up and down, like she can't believe what she's seeing.

"You're okay," Ilia says, incredulous. "And you're _here_."

"Yeah," Blake says. "I am."

Ilia opens her mouth again, but has apparently lost track of everything she wants to say. She closes it, then shakes her head before finding her words. "We've been so worried about you. I heard a rumor you'd gone missing, and--"

She looks over Blake's shoulder, and seems to notice Yang there for the first time. She stiffens, and Yang braces herself, wondering if she should pull her knife already.

"Can I help you?" Ilia asks coldly.

"Just browsing the, uh… bait," Yang replies, giving her a sheepish smile. Ilia doesn't return it.

"She's with me," Blake says, holding up a hand. Ilia frowns.

"With you?"

"Yes." Blake gives a singular nod. "She works on the _Huntress_. She's okay."

"A fisherman?" Slow horror dawns on Ilia's face. "Blake, did she take your--?"

She cuts herself off, eyes narrowing. But Blake shakes her head quickly. "No. No, I've still got my skin. In my bag here." She shrugs her shoulder, letting one of the strings from the drawbag slip over her shoulder, and she pulls the bag off completely.

"So she knows what you are?" Ilia asks in a hushed voice, glancing back toward Yang, clearly not believing it.

"Yes."

"And she _still_ didn't steal it?"

"My skin's right here, Ilia," Blake says, opening the bag. She starts to pull out the skin, tugging it out gingerly. Ilia, perplexed, looks back at Yang again. She asks something in a low voice, and though Yang strains her ears, she can't make out what she's saying. Blake shakes her head again, and Ilia raises an eyebrow.

"So if she doesn't want to steal it, why is she here?" Ilia asks, still quiet, but a bit more audible. 

"She'll leave," Blake says firmly. "She's just… making sure I got here safely."

"And you did. So she can leave," Ilia replies, fixing Yang with a glare.

"Ilia," Blake says warningly. "She's been good to me. Give her _some_ credit."

Yang bristles, and Ilia folds her arms crossly, but Blake doesn't dwell on it. There's more pressing matters to deal with, after all.

"But I need your help with my skin," Blake says. Yang leans back against the door, keeping an eye out the window. No suspicious passersby yet. "Take a look at this."

There's a moment of silence, and then a gasp. Yang looks back over and sees Ilia's horrified face as Blake holds out the sealskin. It drapes down, just touching the floor, the rip folding over on itself.

"Holy shit," Ilia murmurs. She reaches a hand out, then hesitates. "What happened?"

"It's a long story," Blake says on a nervous exhale. 

" _Shit_ ," Ilia repeats. Looking to Blake for permission, she runs her fingers along the jagged tear. "That had to have hurt your human core, didn't it?"

"It did," Blake admits. "But I'm fine-- needed some stitches, but I'll be okay. But my skin... I was hoping you might have sealgut."

Yang raises an eyebrow, but neither of them spare her any explanations. Ilia, eyebrows still drawn, weighs the skin in her hands, deep in thought as she pulls the torn edges together.

"It's gonna need a lot," she replies slowly. "You know that stuff isn't easy to come by, right?"

"Once I can get back to the sea, I'll repay you," Blake says. Biting her lip, Ilia nods.

"Of course." Ilia hesitates, then lets the skin fall from her fingers. "Hold on just a sec, I'll grab it."

Ilia's long ponytail bounces as she turns, pushing past her curtain once more. Blake takes a deep breath, shoulders slumping slightly in relief as she hugs the skin to herself.

"What's sealgut?" Yang asks, finally pulling herself away from the window. She lets her hand trail along the tanks of live bait. It dampens her fingers, and by the time she gets to the cash register, she has to wipe them off on her pants.

"We use it to suture sealskin," Blake explains, lowering the skin slightly as she turns back to Yang. "The sealskin… it's like _actual_ skin in that it needs to be healed, and not simply _mended_. But you can't just use ordinary thread on it."

"So sealgut…"

"You can only heal a skin with something that is _of_ the sea," Blake goes on. "Normal thread… it won't work. But sealgut is a kind of seagrass, and it's thin enough, flexible enough, and sturdy enough. It's perfect for stitching."

"So that's all you needed? The right kind of seaweed?"

"It only grows at a certain depth." Blake sighs. "In certain climates. It can be very difficult to get a hold of. And even with that… there's a little more to healing a skin than that."

" _More_ than a special seaweed?" Yang asks doubtfully. Blake lets out a gentle, amused huff.

"A little bit," Blake says. "It's more than just stitching… It takes something a little more personal." A pause. "You might call it magic."

Her smile, though small, is so beautifully genuine that for a moment, Yang forgets completely about the stink of bait and fears about Blake being followed; everything clears, and all she can do is smile back.

"Magic," Yang repeats, and Blake shrugs one shoulder innocently.

"Sort of."

"Well, after everything I've seen with you… I'd believe it."

"You haven't seen that much," Blake points out. Yang's smile widens.

"Well… I've seen enough." Which is true; hadn't Yang seen her morph from seal to woman? There's magic surrounding Blake Belladonna, coloring the air around her, and Yang feels it filling her lungs. Just being near her is electrifying, invigorating, fulfilling. That's what _magic_ has to feel like.

She looks away from Blake, if only to keep herself from becoming overwhelmed by that sense. But her eye catches on something, and the smile slips.

Behind the cash register, on the bulletin board, she sees a picture of Blake. A flyer.

_Have you seen this woman?_

"Blake?" Yang asks uneasily. She points to the flyer and Blake, frowning, follows Yang's finger. When her gaze lands on the picture, the frown deepens.

Wordlessly, she rounds the counter and sets the skin down on top of it before turning to the bulletin board. She untacks the flyer, and scans it quickly. The phone number had been highlighted in yellow. 

With a set jaw, Blake tears the flyer in half.

"It doesn't mean anything," she says evenly. "You said they were passing those out, right? That's probably how she heard I was missing."

"But if she kept one of those posters… she wouldn't just call that number, would she?"

Blake hesitates, but shakes her head. "No. She wouldn't do that."

"Are you _sure_?" Yang presses, though she knows she's testing Blake's limits. Blake shoots her a (probably well-deserved) glare. 

"She knows better," she says, brokering no room for argument. Yang raises her hands in surrender, turning away and returning to her post at the window.

A few more silent, awkward minutes pass, Yang alternating between watching Blake and staring out the window. Blake seems deep in thought, aligning the ripped edges of her skin together like she's trying to fit together a puzzle piece. Yang finds herself spending a lot more time looking at Blake than out at the street, only realizing at the last minute how creepy she's being. Hastily, she looks away.

"Okay," Ilia announces suddenly, pushing through the curtain. Yang snaps to attention, shoving a hand into her pocket instinctively for her knife. But Ilia's only carrying a small leather pouch, which she sets on top of the sealskin. "That was all I could find, but it should be enough to close that wound."

"Thank you," Blake murmurs, placing a hand on top of the pouch. She closes her eyes, fingers twitching around it. "I'll repay you as soon as I'm able."

"I know you will," Ilia says warmly. She glances over at Yang, eyebrows twitching into a scowl. But she doesn't say anything, apparently opting for ignoring her instead. "How are you with stitching, Blake?"

"I've never really tried…" Blake trails off, and it's almost painful, how uncertain she looks. But Ilia is quick to respond, with comfort more familiar than anything Yang could offer her.

"I can do the stitching part," Ilia says soothingly, setting a hand on Blake's shoulder. It's an action that, for some reason, makes Yang feel a flash of unplaceable irritation. "All you need to do is bind it to yourself, and I'll take care of the hard part. But!" She holds up a finger. "An injury to your skin like this… it'll take time for those stitches to absorb. You'll be able to transform, but your skin will be fragile. If the stitches rip, you'll have to find even more sealgut to fix it, which I probably won't have."

"Got it," Blake says, though her features fall in disappointment; she's been clear from the start about her longing for the sea, and another delay must be heartbreaking for her.

Ilia's eyes flicker toward Yang. Or, maybe not quite. Yang frowns as Ilia doesn't meet her eyes; rather, her grey eyes land on the door _beside_ Yang.

"I'll be all right from here, Yang," Blake finally says, turning to face her. She's smiling, the disappointment apparently evaporated. "Ilia will take care of me. But… thank you. Really."

"Of course," Yang says, nodding, uneasiness still wriggling in her stomach. She pauses, jamming her hands in her pockets. "Well, if you ever need anything… just look our boat up, okay?"

"Okay."

Blake's still smiling at her as she turns away, and Yang's so stuck on it that she _almost_ misses it: the anxious darting of Ilia's eyes at the door a second time.

But this time, Blake sees it, too.

Her whole body tenses. She takes a step away from Ilia, stance shifting from one of familiarity into one of caution.

"What are you looking at?" she asks, and in that moment, Yang sees a guilt etched into every line of Ilia's face, though it's quickly wiped blank. A little _too_ blank.

"Just… y'know. Making sure there's no customers," she replies, and though her words come out easy, they're anything but natural. Yang and Blake exchange a look, and Yang remembers the fear in the seal's golden eyes when it had dropped from their net. She sees it again now, wearing a human face.

"Yang, lock the door," Blake says quietly, though the volume can't disguise the note of terror in her voice. Wordlessly, Yang takes a step, reaches for the lock, and clicks it into place.

"Hey--" Ilia begins, making a move toward the door, but Blake holds a hand up.

"You called him, didn't you?"

"I--" Ilia hesitates, before giving into a look of resignation. "Yes."

Blake takes another step back. Now, Yang can see the slight quiver in her body, though she can't tell whether it's rage or fear.

"Look at you, Blake!" Ilia says, gesturing at her exasperatedly. "You're hurt! Your _skin_ is hurt! And you told a _human_ about us, and she _followed_ you here!"

"Because I _told_ her to!"

"Are you trying to get us found out?" Ilia snaps, temper flaring. "God, he was right about you. You're _clearly_ not well if you're spilling our secrets to a _fisherman_."

"You have no idea what you're talking about! I'm not spilling _anything_!"

"It doesn't matter," Ilia says, glaring. She marches toward Blake, and seizes her arm. "Because we're going to fix this."

Blake wrenches her arm away, immediately using it to slam her full weight into Ilia. Ilia stumbles backward, grabbing Blake at the last minute, causing them both to stagger sideways. Yang charges forward, without a coherent plan or idea other than _stop Ilia_. But Blake swings a fist back first, and Yang screeches to a halt, just short of them, and leaps back to stay out of Blake's way.

But just as she sends her punch flying, Ilia dodges, grabbing Blake's arm and wheeling it back. Blake yelps as Ilia shoves her to the ground, and Blake cries out, one hand flying to her injured hip.

"I'm sorry," Ilia mumbles, then sends a kick straight into Blake's side. Blake yelps, her whole body curling. "But you've left me no choice."

Eyes blazing, Yang _leaps_ at Ilia. The impact makes both of them crash to the ground, Yang on top of her. But Ilia's smaller, more agile, somehow slipping out of Yang's grasp and rolling away before Yang can even comprehend what had happened.

She turns herself over, looking wildly toward Ilia, who's jumped back to her feet. And that's not all she's done; something metal glints in her hand, and Yang mutters a curse. She hadn't even considered the obvious possibility that the owner of a bait shop would have a knife.

"No!" Blake shouts as Ilia seizes Yang by the sweater, her knife stabbing downward.

It's sheer luck Yang catches the knife in her hand.

Yang grits her teeth against the pain, the bite of the blade in her palm as she tries to force it back upwards. Ilia's eyes widen as Yang jerks it to the side, only just managing to keep her balance. But it's left a wide opening for Yang to push up with her other hand, to grab Ilia's other arm. It holds them in stasis, neither one able to break the stalemate without giving something up.

Ilia glares down at Yang, who glares right back up at her. Fury darkens her face, and she bares her teeth at Yang, who doesn't budge, even as the knife continues to dig into her skin. She sees movement over Ilia's shoulder, but Yang is somehow better at subtlety than Ilia had been: she doesn't give it away that Blake is sneaking up right behind her.

Blake loops an arm around Ilia's neck, yanking her backward in a stranglehold. Gasping, Ilia drops the knife, and for a moment, it's just Yang, stuck holding the blade. But then she drops it, too, lets it clatter to the floor, the metal coated in her blood.

But she doesn't feel the pain; she feels the throb, yes, but it feels more like _life_ than pain. The steady pulse urges her upwards, gives her energy. She leaps to her feet and kicks the knife away, toward one of the walls of fish tanks. She hovers, waiting for Blake's instruction, but Blake seems to be doing just fine; she's got Ilia pinned against the wall, one of Ilia's arms twisted upwards behind her and Blake's other arm at the back of her neck.

"How could you?" Blake hisses into Ilia's ear, practically oozing rage.

"He said you were _hurt_!" Ilia stammers. "And you _are_!"

"And we could've taken care of it on our own," Blake responds with a snarl."It has nothing to do with him."

"He's _worried_ about you! And just-- _look_ at you! Dragging around a fisherman, telling her about us… You've lost your fucking _mind_!"

Blake slams her arm against the back of Ilia's neck, making her gasp for breath. Yang steps around them in a wide circle, uncertain if she should intervene. Would Blake go so far as to _kill_ Ilia? She feels blood between her fingers, and curls her hand into a fist to staunch the flow.

"You're threatening all of us, by bringing _her_ into this," Ilia says, and Yang had no doubt that the hate-filled emphasis was directed at herself. "She might not now, but eventually, she's going to try to steal your skin, and then--"

" _He_ stole my skin!" Blake snaps, so hard that her voice breaks on the words.

Silence meets the revelation, only interrupted by the bubbling of the fish tanks, and Ilia stops struggling. Yang freezes.

"He stole my skin," Blake repeats, more quietly, but with no less anger. "And then he kept me prisoner on that boat for over a _year_ , Ilia. And he shot me with a _harpoon_ to try and keep me from escaping with it. _That's_ why I'm injured. Because of _him_."

Ilia manages to twist her neck around a little. Since she doesn't fight back, Blake lets her. She stares at Blake in confusion. "He… wouldn't do that…" she says slowly. "He… he _wouldn't_."

"He would," Blake says sadly. "And he did."

Yang grits her teeth. She doesn't know much about selkies, even now, but stealing Blake's skin is a repugnant thought. She tries not to think about the folklore, about the potential implications of someone stealing a selkie's skin. It's none of her business, she tells herself.

"Why?" Ilia asks, dumbfounded.

"I don't have time to tell you everything," Blake replies, glancing back over her shoulder at the door. "I have to go, before they get here."

"There's gotta be a back door," Yang says. Blake nods sharply.

"Then we'll be on our way," she says. She hesitates. "Yang, grab my skin."

She sees Ilia stiffen underneath Blake's grip, but Yang doesn't argue. She darts to the countertop, snatching up the skin and the pouch of sealgut. She's feeling the pain in her hand now as she rolls up the skin, and she winces as the coarse fur catches on her wound. She tucks it under her arm as quickly as she can, and snatches up the pouch.

Then, to absolve the guilt of essentially stealing the apparently-rare sealgut, Yang shifts the skin to her other arm in order to pull out her wallet. She doesn't usually keep much cash on her, but she supposes the little she has is better than nothing. She drops the few cards of lien onto the countertop, then shoves it into her pocket.

When she looks back up, she's surprised to see Blake's watching her, an eyebrow half-cocked. Yang shrugs.

"Let's get--" she begins, but a harsh pounding at the door makes the three of them jump. Blake's eyes widen, and for the first time, Yang truly _feels_ that same fear.

"Now," Blake says. She gives Ilia a shove, and Ilia's dazed enough that she stumbles to the floor.

Both of them run for the curtain that leads to the backroom, Yang holding it open to let Blake through first. Neither of them spare Ilia another glance.

They find the backdoor with little difficulty, and Yang's relieved to find it isn't locked. Blake throws it open to a foul-smelling alleyway.

But they don't linger here, either. Yang follows her lead, a step behind as Blake runs down it, past the dumpsters and puddles. Though there's no more fog, the gloominess hasn't evaporated with it. It clings to them, and Yang can practically _see_ the way it settles around Blake, even as they run.

And they run, and they run. They cross streets, never moving predictably. They don't talk; they just need to put distance between themselves and the bait shop, and whoever might have been searching for Blake there.

"You okay?" Yang asks as they round the corner of another block. Blake's slowing down, a slight limp in her step. One hand hovers over her hip, where the wound is probably aching.

"Yeah," she says, out of breath.

"We're nearly in the Financial District," Yang adds, looking up and making note of their street. "We're probably good."

"Yeah," Blake repeats, a familiar deadness haunting her voice. When she reaches out a hand, Yang immediately hands over the sealskin. Blake hugs it to herself, not meeting her eyes.

"You okay?" Yang asks again, more gently.

It takes a moment for Blake to respond. She looks like she's still trying to catch her breath, but there's a hopelessness in her eyes that gives away her true feelings.

She looks so lost.

"I…" she begins, then stops. She shakes her head once before going on, in a low voice, "I don't… know what else to do."

"Hey," Yang says softly. "You'll be all right, okay?"

"I trusted her," Blake says, sounding oddly calm. When she finally looks up, her eyes are as wide as they'd been back in Ilia's shop, as wide as they'd been when Blake had dropped out of that net. "I trusted her, and she still called him."

"Maybe she didn't know."

"She still shouldn't have called him behind my back."

"I know," Yang murmurs. "I know."

"And I… have nowhere else to go." The calmness breaks, the eye of the storm finally past. She looks down, though not before Yang sees glassiness in her eyes.

"You can stay with us," she says firmly. "With me and Ruby and Weiss. Those people chasing you don't know who we are, or where we live. You'll be safe with us, and as soon as you figure something out, you can go. But for now… you can just rest. And think, about what's next."

Blake swallows, hard, and nods. She can't even seem to think of an argument against it; the last of her defiance had fizzled out back in the bait shop. All she's got left now is her own exhaustion, and hurt.

Yang, instinctively, reaches an arm out, to touch Blake on the shoulder. At first, Blake flinches, but then, realizing the touch is a gentle one, she gives in, sagging against Yang. She can feel Blake trembling a little, and doesn't blame her in the slightest for it. She strokes Blake's back instead, hoping she can find at least a little comfort in being held, if only for a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know these updates are a little slower than usual... I'm working again, and picking up as many hours as a I can, which really cuts into my free time! But I'll still be writing, and posting updates about my progress on Twitter as I can. Thanks for being patient~ Happy New Year, all!!


	4. Chapter 4

Blake is silent during the whole Uber ride back to Yang's place. She keeps her head low, not looking Yang in the eye, clutching her sealskin close. Yang leaves her to her thoughts; the morning had been overwhelming for both of them, and downright traumatizing for Blake. She's not going to add to the stress with asinine questions.

So rather than bother her, Yang focuses on other things. Now that she's sitting down, Yang pulls her bandana out of her pocket, wrapping it around her injured hand to keep pressure on the wound. She keeps it tight in a fist as she pulls her phone out with her other hand, sending a quick message in her group chat with Weiss and Ruby.

_sorry I bailed. you guys make it out okay?_

R: _yeah! we already did most of the work, so we were fine._

_how'd we do?_

W: _We did well. One of our most profitable trips yet, I think._

R: _we made bank!_

Yang smiles faintly. Over too many recent trips, they were lucky to break even, so a good payday like this was sorely needed, and it's a bright spot on an otherwise stressful morning. But Weiss is quick to move on, to the more pressing concerns.

W: _Did you find Blake?_

_I did. actually... is it okay if she stays with us for a bit? she's got nowhere else to go._

R: _absolutely!!_

W: _What happened?_

Yang starts to type it out, then pauses, her thumbs hovering over the keys. There's so much to say, and typing so furiously is making her injured hand ache. So she goes back, deleting everything she'd written and sending a quicker message instead.

_it'll take way too long to explain over text… but I'll tell you everything later._

R: _is she okay?_

She glances over to Blake, who's staring down at the sealskin in her lap.

_she's okay. just scared, i think, and after everything… I don't blame her at all._

W: _I don't see a problem with her staying, as long as she doesn't threaten any of us again._

A pause.

W: _If there's anything else we can do for her, please let us know._

The corner of Yang's mouth twitches. There _is_ compassion hidden under that cold, pragmatic exterior. Most people just don't look hard enough to see it. 

After sending them a quick _thank you_ , she slips her phone back into her pocket. When she looks up again, she's surprised to see that Blake is staring at her.

"Your hand…" Blake says, frowning. She still looks a little dazed, but she's fixated on the bandana. Yang lifts it, smiling sheepishly.

"It's okay. It's shallow," she replies. She shrugs. "I should've been more careful. You _did_ tell me I wouldn't want her to think of me as a threat, right?"

"Well… yeah." Blake reaches out hesitantly, taking Yang's hand by the fingertips and turning her hand over. Yang lets her, eyes flickering down to it as Blake unwraps the bandana. "I just… didn't think she'd actually _do_ it. Especially since-- since you hadn't even _done_ anything."

Yang catches the way she trips over her words. Her gaze softens, and she just watches as Blake trails a finger along the side of the wound.

"I can take care of it once we get home," Yang tells her, shifting a little in her seat. "It's really not that bad. Nothing like what happened to you."

"It still shouldn't have happened," Blake says quietly. She releases Yang's hand, shaking her head. "I'm… so sorry."

"It wasn't your fault," Yang replies, keeping her voice gentle as she rewraps her hand. "Remember that, okay? That it _wasn't your fault_."

Blake doesn't nod, but she doesn't argue, either, and for now, that's enough.

They pull up outside the drab apartment building, with its peeling paint and dead plants. It's not pretty, but it's a fitting place for the ever-revolving door of fishermen tenants. Though it's located on the edges of town, it's a straight shot to the docks, and the bus route to Beacon University is a fairly direct one. It isn't much, but it's home.

"You can take my room," Yang says as they walk up the stairs. Blake presses her hand to her hip again, and Yang makes a mental note to check the stitches later, to make sure she hasn't pulled any. "It's got _ocean views_!"

It's a joke-- the apartment website likes to tout _ocean views_ , when the reality is just a distant view of a sliver of ocean. But it's nonetheless a joke Yang feels bad about when Blake visibly perks up.

"Ocean views?"

"Well, not really," Yang says quickly, the guilt hitting hard when Blake's shoulders slump. "Technically, you can see it from the window… but it hardly counts as a view."

"Oh."

"Better than nothing, though, right?"

Blake shrugs a shoulder, and doesn't reply.

They get inside, and the minute Yang closes the door behind them, she's immediately at ease, and can almost forget the ordeal they'd been through. It's always so _nice_ to come back home after a fishing trip, anyway, and she's already dreaming about the shower and nap she's going to take. She's eager to catch up on all the missed hours of sleep that being on the boat caused, and even if her nap is on the couch instead of her bed, she knows she'll fall asleep easily. She drops her keys into the dish by the front door, and gestures awkwardly around the small apartment.

"So, uh, welcome?" she says with a strained laugh. She wishes she'd had a chance to pick up the living room a little bit first, but she supposes it's better for Blake to see the place for how it really is, with jackets thrown over the top of the couch and shoes kicked haphazardly around the entryway. It's something that always drives Weiss nuts, but she hopes Blake is just a little less uptight about tidiness.

"It's… big," Blake comments, sounding surprised. Yang's eyebrows shoot up, before remembering that Blake had apparently spent the past year trapped on a boat. Anything would be big compared to that. Yang grits her teeth, pushing that thought out.

"Not really," she says, shrugging. "But it's big enough."

She leads Blake to her room, making sure to point out the embarrassing glimpse of ocean through the window. Curiously, Blake peers out, looking down at the dingy street below, while Yang rifles through her dresser. 

"As soon as you're feeling up to it, we can get you some clothes of your own," she says, pulling out a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and an oversized t-shirt, and hands them back to Blake. "But you can keep borrowing from us for now."

"Thank you," Blake says, her voice so quiet that Yang almost doesn't hear her.

Yang wracks her brain, trying to think of something to say, but comes up empty. She smiles awkwardly, and scratches the back of her head.

"Well…" she says after a moment. "I'm gonna go take a shower. I smell kinda fishy. But make yourself at home, okay?"

Blake gives the faintest of nods, and Yang flushes. She wishes she had more to work with, but Blake doesn't exactly give much of a springboard for conversation.

"But you can shower after, if you'd like," she adds. Shit, should she have offered the shower to Blake first? She hesitates, then blurts, "Or if you'd rather shower before me, you can."

This time, Blake just shakes her head. Yang hesitates, then reaches a hand out to give Blake's arm a quick, reassuring squeeze.

"You're safe here," she says. "It'll be okay."

And, again, Blake doesn't say a word.

\--

Yang steps out of the shower feeling like a new woman. The fishy odor has been scrubbed off her body, her hair lighter without the thickness of the sea salt. It's not quite enough to have washed away the stress and anxiety, but at least now, it's _clean_ stress rather than stinky stress.

She dries quickly, changing into a fresh pair of shorts and a tank top. She leaves her hair to air dry, letting it hang damply over her shoulders. Normally, she'd blow-dry it, but the wound on her hand is starting to bleed again, and she'd rather take care of that first. 

She peers down at her palm as she heads to the kitchen. It's not a deep wound-- it's more an inconvenience than anything else. But it _does_ mean she shouldn't draw for a little while, she thinks with annoyance, pulling the first-aid kit out of the cupboard. She takes out a small roll of bandages and a tube of antibiotic ointment, only wincing a little as the motion pulls on her palm. But she'll probably be fine by the time they set out on the boat again in a few day's time, as long as she rests her hand.

_Resting_. She's never been good at that.

She's just starting to smear antibiotic ointment on the wound when she hears bare feet padding across the linoleum. Surprised, she looks up.

"How's your hand?" Blake asks, leaning against the countertop. Yang's pajamas are-- predictably-- big on her, and the collar of the t-shirt is a little off-center, revealing a hint of clavicle that Yang definitely doesn't stare at.

"I got off easy," Yang replies cheerfully. She holds it up, waving it once. "Before long, I'll be good as new."

Blake raises an eyebrow. She looks a little more alive than she had during the Uber ride, a little more light flickering back into her eyes. The shock must be abating slightly, and Yang's heart loosens a little, untangling a knot of anxiety she hadn't realized had even been there. Blake _would_ be okay.

"Will it need stitches?" she asks, frowning, stepping closer to see the supplies Yang had pulled out.

"Nah," Yang replies with a shake of her head. She unravels the bandages, pressing the end of it against the wound. Keeping it in place will be tricky, but she knows how to be creative with bandaging. "I just need to be careful with it for a few days, and it'll heal on its own."

"I see," Blake says doubtfully, watching Yang press her hand and the bandage against the countertop, holding it in place as she maneuvers the roll around her hand. "Do you need help?"

"I got it," Yang says dismissively. At the same time, she lifts up her thumb, meaning to catch the new part of the bandage underneath it, but all she manages to do is lose the part she's holding down. The bandages unravel from around her hand, and she groans, frustrated.

"Clearly," Blake says, and, to Yang's surprise, a tired, unguarded smile curls on her lips. A small smile, but it's there nonetheless. Seeing it, Yang finds herself smiling, too. "Just wrapping it up?"

"Yeah," Yang says, resigned. She holds out her hand, and Blake takes it.

Blake's hands are so soft compared to Yang's, lacking the thick, rough callouses of a fisherman. Her thumb brushes over her knuckles, so gently, sending goosebumps flying down Yang's back and arms. There's so _much_ in this simple touch, and, irrationally, Yang hopes that Blake won't let go.

And she doesn't. For now, anyway. Still holding Yang's hand, she takes the bandages in her other one, aligning it over the cut.

"It's sort of an awkward spot, isn't it?" she remarks regretfully, holding it in place and unwinding the roll so that it settles along the webbing between Yang's thumb and forefinger.

"Holding a pencil will be a pain in the ass," Yang admits, wrinkling her nose as Blake wraps the bandage around her hand. "But I've gotten worse just from fishing."

"Accident-prone?"

"I wouldn't say _that_." Yang grins up at Blake as she wraps the bandage around again, this time on the other side of her thumb. "But even the best of us slip up sometimes, and get into trouble. Fishing's a risky business."

"Yeah," Blake says distantly, not looking up at her. Considering all she's been through, Yang supposes, she would know that even better than most.

Neither of them say another word as Blake finishes wrapping Yang's hand. For her part, Yang simply doesn't _know_ what to say. How is she supposed to start and carry a conversation with someone who doesn't even want to _be_ here? Blake is only here because she has nowhere else to go. If she'd had it her way, she would have been free of Yang long ago. So she lets Blake finish in silence, keeping her mouth shut. 

"Is this all right?" Blake asks when she's done. Testingly, she lays her fingers against the bandages over Yang's palm. It's thick enough that Yang can't feel the softness of her fingers, but she still feels the throb of her own pulse at the contact. 

"It's good," Yang says, her mouth dry. She nods toward the counter, where the other first-aid supplies are. "There's tape there."

"Okay."

Yang holds the bandage in place with her free hand as Blake rips a small piece of tape from the roll, and presses it down to the edge of the bandage, securing it. It'll be good for now, anyway, and if Yang is careful, it should last at least a little while.

"Thank you," Yang says, eye flickering back up to her. She gives Blake a lopsided smile. "You're a pro."

Blake rolls her eyes, but Yang catches a glimpse of a pleased half-smile trying to form before it's pushed back down.

"Hardly," she mutters, stepping back and looking away. "It's the least I could do, considering I'm the reason you were hurt in the first place."

Yang's smile fades, and her brows crinkle instead. "It wasn't--"

" _My fault_. I know, I remember." Blake sighs, and leans against the counter. She runs her fingers through her hair, and tucks it behind one ear. Her long, dark hair is disheveled from her days-- weeks? months?-- at sea, and Yang feels that remaining twinge of guilt that she'd showered before Blake. "But still… it shouldn't have happened in the first place."

"I know," Yang says gently. She reaches a hand out, but catches herself, thinking better of it. She leans against the counter, too, close to Blake, but not quite touching.

"It won't happen again," Blake replies, her voice steely. She glares down at the floor, and Yang's relieved that, for once, that she's not the target of that glare. And then, the glare breaks, and she leans back, shoulders slumping. "As soon as I can transform again, I'll return to Menagerie. I won't have to worry about any of this anymore."

"Menagerie?"

"Menagerie," Blake says, smiling faintly, "is my home."

"I've never heard of it. Is it a selkie place?"

"Yes," Blake replies, amused. "It's…" She pauses, thinking. Then, she shakes her head. "It's nothing like you've ever seen."

"I bet," Yang remarks, though she's already trying to picture it. "Do you guys, like, live as seals? Or humans?"

"Well… it's nothing like Vale," she says, elbows resting on the countertop behind her, more relaxed than Yang's seen her yet. "And it really depends on what's easiest. If we're in the water, we're seals, but we stick to human form on land. But all of it… it's just so different than here." A pause. "I miss it more than I thought I would."

"You'll get back there," Yang says certainly. "Just as soon as your skin is fixed. Right?"

"Right…"

Blake falls silent for a moment, the topic apparently closed. Regretfully, Yang turns around, back to the first-aid supplies scattered on the countertop. She gathers them all up, being careful with her newly-bandaged hand, and begins to put them away when Blake speaks again.

"Wait," she says, and Yang looks up. Blake's nerves are showing, in the way she shifts from one foot to the next, the way she bites her lip. It's cute, in a sad way.

"Yeah?"

"You… know how to stitch up a wound," she says, words tumbling out in a rush. "Could… you stitch my skin back together?"

"What?" Yang raises an eyebrow.

"My sealskin," Blake adds quickly. "You… stitched _me_ up pretty well. You could probably do it better than I could. Make it look neater, anyway."

She offers up a strained half-smile, one that Yang is too confused to return.

"You want me to sew it up?" she asks. "I thought you said you need magic for that."

"It does… but it doesn't come from you," Blake clarifies. "To mend a sealskin, you need two things," She holds up two fingers, and ticks them off in turn. "You need something of the sea, and you need something of your _self_. Obviously, the sealgut is the connection to the sea. But the part of my _self_ … it's what binds the sealskin to me. Gives it its power. And those two things are what gives the skin its _magic_."

"Oh," Yang says, still not following. "So… what does that mean? What do you need from me?"

"All you'd have to do," Blake explains, "is sew it."

"And that's all?"

"That's all."

Yang pretends to mull it over, even though she already knows what her answer will be. Hell, she'd known her answer before Blake had even asked: of course she'll help Blake, in any way she can. It surprises her-- and sort of scares her-- how much she aches to help, how quickly she's willing to give. So much for not getting invested.

"All right," Yang says, "I can do that."

Blake brightens so _visibly_ , her whole body perking upward. Before Yang can say another word, Blake darts away, running back to the bedroom, and Yang barely has time to wonder what she's doing before she's back, sealskin in hand.

"Wait, right now?" she asks, startled, as Blake holds it out to her. Blake's cheeks darken in an anxious blush, suddenly stricken.

"Are you able to? With your hand?"

"Well, yeah, but… I didn't know you wanted to do it _now_ ," Yang says, taking the sealskin. It's heavy in her hands, but the weight of it is more than just the skin itself. As protective as Blake is over her skin, and as suspicious as she is, being allowed to hold it, or even touch it, hits Yang hard. The ache in her chest grows, and all she wants to do is live up to the trust Blake's put in her.

"I…" Blake says, the sentence dying off on her tongue. She looks down, fixing her eyes on the skin in Yang's hand so as not to meet her eyes. She clears her throat, and when she speaks again, her voice sounds thick. "With my skin ripped like this… well, it's a _part_ of me. It's a part of my soul. Even though it's not on my body, it feels like a part of me is… broken, in a way. And I just--"

"I'll do it," Yang interrupts gently; she doesn't _need_ reasoning, or pleas, not when she sees the pain so plain on Blake's face. " _Now_."

Blake's shoulders slump in relief, and she closes her eyes for a moment.

"Thank you," she whispers, and Yang's heart breaks just a little.

She spreads the sealskin out on the dining room table, the ripped end facing the chair she sits in. She'll only need a needle, scissors, and maybe a pair of tweezers for this, since Blake already has the sealgut that she'll use for the stitches themselves. But other than that…

"Do I just sew it up like… fabric?" Yang asks uncertainly, pulling the two ripped edges together. She isn't much of a seamstress; flesh is one thing, but her passable suturing never seemed to translate into making clothes.

"Just do whatever you did with my hip," Blake says, staring at Yang's hands as she aligns the edges. "Just… different. Just think of it like another wound."

"Okay…" Yang is still unconvinced that she'd do any better than Blake would, but of course she'll still try. "I'll do my best, then."

She moves back to the kitchen, rummaging through the cupboards for the sewing kit. None of the needles are very big, which she knows would be ideal for the thick hide, but it's all she has. She hopes it's enough.

She takes a seat in front of the outstretched sealskin. Wordlessly, Blake sets a small leather pouch on top of it-- Yang recognizes it as the one they stole (sort of) from Ilia, the one with the sealgut inside. The key to fixing Blake's skin.

The sealgut is thicker than normal thread, both more smooth and more stiff. It's like a semi-dried piece of seaweed, which makes sense, considering that it _is_ seagrass. Yang grimaces as she threads the needle; it's thick enough that it just barely manages to squeeze through the eye.

"So what do _you_ do?" Yang asks, knotting it carefully. "How do you give it a piece of yourself?"

"Easy," Blake says. "Can I use your knife for a moment?"

Yang frowns, but obliges. She nods toward the front door, where she's hung up her sweatshirt. "In my pocket."

Blake fetches it, pulling it out of its sheath before she's even returned to the table. She pulls up a chair right beside Yang, close enough to get a good vantage point of the suturing. Close enough, too, that Yang can smell the salt in her hair. Not that she's _trying_ to smell it, but for some reason, it's all her stupid brain can focus on until Blake speaks again.

"It doesn't take much," she says quietly, holding the knife up in front of her. Yang frowns, watching Blake run her thumb down the blade's edge, expression calculating.

"This doesn't involve a human sacrifice, does it?" she asks nervously. Blake chuckles.

"Not unless you want it to," she says, deadpan, to a point where Yang can't tell whether or not she's joking. But she presses her thumb harder against the sharp blade, and it takes Yang a moment to realize just _how_ hard. 

"Blake?!" Yang exclaims, alarmed, as Blake drags the blade along the pad of her thumb, cutting a neat slice into her skin. Blake flinches only slightly from the pain, and it's deep enough that a thin ribbon of red blood immediately pools to the surface. She uses her forefinger to place more pressure beneath the cut, and in doing so, squeezes a little more blood out.

"What are you doing?!"

Blake doesn't respond at first. She reaches across the skin, lifting up a part of the ripped side.

"My skin lost a lot of its integrity when I was wounded," she explains quietly. "This is how I'll restore it."

"With _blood_?"

"You know a little about medicine, don't you?" Blake asks, gold eyes flickering over to Yang. "Blood is a part of you. Blood is what _heals_ you."

"Yeah, but--"

"The skin is a part of me," Blake explains patiently. "It's a part of my _soul_ , and as connected to me as any limb. My blood will infuse it with my aura, and _heal_ it."

Yang frowns, but doesn't argue. She just watches as Blake takes the torn edge between her forefinger and middle finger, pulling it close to the bleeding cut on her thumb, but not quite touching.

"Take my blood," Blake says, voice low. "Take my soul."

Yang blinks, feeling a strange pulling in the air around her. But maybe she's just imagining this, her mind being warped by the odd, mystical air of Blake's words.

"Take _me_ ," Blake finishes, more forcefully. And with that, she presses the blood on her thumb against the sealskin, smearing it along the edge of the rip.

Nothing happens-- at least, nothing that Yang can _see_. But something still feels strange in the air, the thrumming of energy right before a storm. It's concentrated all around them, settling as thick as morning fog.

But then, it fades. The strange feeling dissipates, and Yang imagines that it's sinking into the sealskin, charging it with _something_. Blake pulls her thumb away, looking satisfied as she pressed her forefinger against her thumb, staunching the flow of blood at last.

"What was that?" Yang asks, turning to Blake again.

"You can sew it now," Blake says, nodding at the skin. "Before it fades."

"Before _what_ fades?"

"My aura," she says, a bit impatiently. "Sew it up, which will keep the energy in. Then it can finally heal completely. Otherwise, the energy will bleed out of it. It'll be good for a little while, but it won't hold until you've sewed it up again. Until it's _whole_."

"So... it really is like a wound," Yang says, almost understanding. "It really is like skin, huh?" She reaches for it, to pull it closer, and nearly drops it in surprise.

The sealskin is warm to the touch.

"Because it _is_ skin," Blake says, a faint smile on her face. She nods. "Go ahead."

It's disconcerting, holding it now. It's warm, full of life. It's not like holding a plan piece of leather anymore, or even an animal pelt. It feels… _different_ , in a way Yang wouldn't be able to describe. She feels a strange flutter in her stomach; it feels more personal now, holding it now, infused with Blake's blood.

She pushes past that feeling, tries not to think of what she's holding as real _skin_. She can just sew it back up, give it back to Blake, and never have to touch it again. So that's exactly what she'll do.

Yang pins each side together, making the edges as even as possible. As much as she wants to rush through this, she also doesn't want to botch it. Her thumb absently strokes the outer side of the skin, thinking about where to even begin.

But Blake is watching her, eyes bright and eager. Yang won't let her down.

It's not a fast process. She considers saving time, and the precious sealgut, by making one long, continuous stitch, but decides against it; Ilia had said that Blake would be capable of transforming once the skin is stitched again. If she did so, and ended up ripping a continuous stitch, it could very well reopen the whole wound. No-- it would be safer, in the long run, to create individual, interrupted stitches.

Yang is precise with each one, always mindful of the limited gut they have. She can't afford to waste an inch of it, so she uses as little as she has to. Blake, at least, seems patient, watching every move Yang makes, studying each tiny, deliberate knot. It strains Yang's injured hand, but she moves as gingerly as she can, trying to move her fingers in a way that won't pull on the bandage too much.

"Where did you learn how to do this kind of thing?" Blake finally asks, a few stitches in. Yang smiles faintly, not taking her eyes off her work.

"I'm a medic," she replies cheerfully, keeping her tone light despite the unease bubbling up instinctively at the question. "Or was, anyway. I'm taking a little time off, focusing on fishing full-time now."

"That's an… interesting switch," Blake remarks. Yang shrugs, not looking up.

"We-- Ruby and I, anyway-- have fished for years now, though it was mostly just a seasonal thing. But I just… needed to take a bit of a break for a while, from the fast pace." She loops the thread around the tweezers, and uses her finger to pull the sealgut into its knot. It's not neat by any means, and it already looks much sloppier than the stitches she'd put in Blake's hip. "And Vale is great for fishing, and since Ruby is going to Beacon for her grad program… I just wanted to see if I could support myself with fishing for a while."

"Sounds like a gamble."

"Not really." Yang shrugs again. "I'm sure I could just get a real job again if I really needed it. But, hey, at least my skills aren't being _totally_ wasted on the boat, right?" She finally looks up at Blake, and gives her a wink. "Came in handy for you."

"Well…" Blake says, cheeks darkening with a blush. Yang laughs out loud.

"It's good to have someone on board with a little medical expertise, anyway," she goes on, returning to the sealskin. "I've been on a couple other boats before where I was the resident medic, too. So you're not the only person who's benefitted from my services."

"I _am_ glad you were there," Blake admits quietly. Out of the corner of Yang's eye, she sees a small smile curl on Blake's lips, and seeing that smile makes Yang's heart leap. But just as quickly, Blake moves on. "So are you not from Vale originally?"

"Nope," Yang replies, tugging the needle through. The cut in her hand protests the motion; it's already starting to ache. "Well, technically still in the kingdom, but Ruby and I grew up further south-- have you ever heard of Patch?"

"I've heard of it, but never been," Blake replies. "An island, right?"

"Yep!"

"It's warmer than here, isn't it?"

"Well, yeah, but it's not that hard to be warmer than here," Yang says with a chuckle. "Though, I guess it _is_ warmer here than in Atlas, so that's a plus. That's where Weiss is from."

"And that's where the currents come in from," Blake adds thoughtfully. "That's why the waters here are so cold."

"Makes for _great_ fishing, though!"

"I guess that's true…"

The smile fades, Blake's gaze growing distant. Yang has the impression that she's not in the room anymore-- she's back on a fishing boat on the distant sea somewhere, stuck on those frigid currents. Yang glances over at her, concerned.

But Blake just shakes her head, and Yang doesn't ask.

The silence lingers. Yang makes stitch after stitch, eyes occasionally darting to her side, always feeling a strange sense of relief that Blake is still there, still watching. It's stupid, Yang tells herself, feeling a surge of frustration. Blake's approval shouldn't _matter_ as much as it apparently does. So why, then, does she feel relief, and a flush of warmth, every time she looks back?

There's not much sealgut left by the time she finished the last stitch-- they'd cut it dangerously close. She could probably manage a few more stitches if the need arose, but even that would be pushing it. Blake would need to be extra careful not to pull any of them out.

Yang feels Blake scoot closer as she runs a finger along the line of stitches. It's all still so _warm_ , like touching someone's own skin, but now something about it feels more… _alive_. It's like she half-expects it to start moving on its own, or start breathing. She even thinks she feels a pulse flutter against her fingertips, though that much _has_ to be her own imagination.

It really is a part of Blake's soul, Yang marvels, enchanted as her fingertip reaches the end of the newly-stitched seam.

"Is it… okay?" Blake asks, as anxious as a mother asking after her child. Yang nods sharply, regretfully pulling her hand back, surprised by her own sudden desire to keep it in front of her, to touch it, to examine it, to feel if that pulse really _was_ there.

"All done!" she says cheerfully, handing it over to Blake. She feels a twinge of longing as Blake takes it from her, but she smothers it immediately. She can't be selfish about wanting to study it, not when Blake is clutching it to her body so desperately. No: the skin is back where it should be, with Blake.

And Blake sighs, heavy with relief, shoulders slumping as she closes her eyes, whole once more.

"Thank you," she whispers, opening her eyes again, letting them rest on Yang. All Yang sees there is calmness, stillness, serenity. The gentle fog on the ocean, the quiet lapping of waves. There's a fullness to it, a fullness that makes Yang's heart almost ache.

"You're welcome," Yang whispers back, meeting that gaze with a smile. The corners of Blake's mouth twitch upwards, returning it.

For a brief second, Yang can _feel_ that moment of connection, a singular stopping of time, a shift of perspective. Her breath hitches; it's almost like she's falling, like there's a new focus of her personal gravity. It's harder than hitting the ground, yes, but it's also _sweeter_ : Yang is pulled into those gold eyes, sucked into their depths, and for that split second, it's like she's drowning.

She forces herself to wrench her head away, to break the stare, and it feels like the hardest thing she's ever done.

"Well…" Blake begins, then falters. Had she felt that, too, or had it all been in Yang's head? "I… think I'd like to go rest for a while. If that's all right."

"Of course," Yang replies quickly, breathlessly. "Rest, and eat, and shower. And…" She shrugs, trying to act casual. "Get comfortable here."

"Yeah…" Blake seems a little dazed, but with a quick shake of her head, it seems to clear. She pushes her chair back, rising. She doesn't meet Yang's eyes, instead glancing back down at the table. Then, she pauses. "Oh. I almost forgot."

Yang had almost forgotten about the knife, until Blake slides it across the top of the table to her, right within her reach.

"Thanks for letting me borrow it," she says, smiling hollowly, then turns to walk away.

"Wait!" Hurriedly, Yang jumps out of her chair. She holds the knife by the blade, its paracord-wrapped handle extended toward Blake. "You keep it."

"What? Why?" Blake asks, frowning. Yang shrugs, face going red.

"If… it'll make you feel safer here," she says, shifting awkwardly. She feels the ache in her hand now, and hopes she didn't irritate or reopen the wound when she'd stitched the sealskin back up. "I know you only gave it back because you thought Ilia… well." She shakes her head. "You won't need it here. Not with us. But… if it makes you feel better to have it… then you should."

Blake's frown shifts, turning into wide-eyed surprise. She hesitates, then takes the knife, balancing it delicately between her fingers. She opens her mouth to speak, but seems lost for words, so she closes it. Yang, never one to be comfortable with silence, laughs nervously.

"As long as you promise not to threaten me with it again," she jokes weakly. "Unless I deserve it, that is."

The quip is a lame one, but it breaks the silence and cracks a small smile across Blake's face. She inclines her head in acquiescence.

"That sounds fair," she says, adjusting the sealskin to hang over her arm more securely. Yang's eyes flicker down to it, then back to Blake's face.

"It's a deal then," Yang says. Still smiling that tempting smile, Blake nods once.

"Deal."

\--

"So now what?" Weiss asks, frowning. She glances back at the door to Yang's room. It's closed, giving Blake some privacy. "Is she going to be okay?"

"As okay as she can be," Yang says with a sigh, ladling a scoop of pancake batter into the hot pan. Though it's technically closer to lunch than it is to breakfast, pancakes were something the three of them could always agree on.

When Ruby and Weiss had returned from the docks, Yang had immediately filled them in. They'd listened with equal parts horror and disbelief as she recounted everything that had happened at the bait shop. When Yang had shown them her bandaged hand, the shock on their faces had spoken volumes, the severity of the situation sinking in: it was proof that the people after Blake would be willing to cut down anyone in their path in order to get to her.

It was a sobering thought.

"Is there anything we can do?" Ruby asks softly. There's no playful teasing or banter today, like there usually would be after returning from a fishing trip; there's a heaviness in the air that not even pancakes can cure.

"Well, we don't want her to pull her stitches by swimming away yet," Yang replies, turning the pancake over. "So if it's all right with you guys, I was thinking she could stay with us for a few weeks. Until her skin is better."

"But you said you sewed it up?" Weiss asks, confused.

"I did," Yang says, nodding. "But it, like… _heals_ like normal skin. So it needs some time to do that."

"I see…" Weiss says, though from the look on her face, she very clearly _doesn't_ see.

"So it's like magic!" Ruby says, thoughtful.

"Exactly."

The three of them fall silent for a moment, reflecting. Yang slides the spatula beneath the pancake, stacking it onto Ruby's plate. She scoops another large spoonful of batter into the pan, forming a messy circle with it. Her hand aches a little from the motion, but she's careful to avoid too much direct pressure to the bandage.

"Well, I don't mind if she stays for a few weeks," Weiss says at last. She leans against the counter, then reaches up, tugging the elastic out of her side-ponytail and letting her hair fall free. "But we _are_ going to be fishing again soon. What will we do with her then?"

"She can come with us!" Ruby says cheerfully.

"She might not want to," Yang points out. "She said the _White Fang_ kept her trapped for a year. I wouldn't blame her if she never wanted to set foot on a boat ever again."

"Well, she doesn't have to," Ruby replies, shrugging. "But we can at least offer."

Yang bobs her head, watching the batter bubble. To her side, she's aware of Weiss shaking her head, a motion that both shakes her hair out and displays her disgust.

"I never liked the _White Fang_ ," she grumbles.

"Yeah!" Ruby agrees vehemently, though Yang's sure Ruby had never given the _White Fang_ too much thought before today. "I don't understand how they could hold someone hostage like that. It's just…" She shudders visibly, and Yang's inclined to agree. She's been trying not to think about why someone would keep a selkie trapped on a boat; every line of thought that leads to makes her feel sick.

"It makes no sense to me," Weiss says softly, more thoughtful than angry. Yang flips the pancake, and glances back at her.

"What doesn't?"

"Think about it," Weiss says crisply. She's going into teacher-mode, taking the tone she often does when she's lecturing the undergrads at Beacon. She always gets more expressive when she's trying to get her points across, her blue eyes bright, her gestures wide. "I was reading up on some of the selkie folklore this morning, and… I honestly didn't find much. Which made me wonder: why would a boat want to keep a selkie trapped on board if there were no benefits to it?"

"Well…" Yang says hesitantly, but Weiss lifts a single finger.

"There's unsavory reasons, yes," she says, her tone level and clinical. "Or simply mundane ones. Maybe Blake was kept as a servant, or free labor, aboard the _White Fang_."

"So?" Ruby asks, eyebrow raised. Yang hadn't noticed until now that she'd picked up the first pancake with her hands, and is already halfway through eating it, nibbling it without caring about how hot it was.

"If that's the case," Weiss says, volume rising slightly as she hits the crux of her argument, "then why go through so much trouble to get her back? Why _harpoon her_ as she's trying to escape? Why wait in Vale, hunting her down, when they could be back out on the ocean, making money? They've expended so many resources in tracking her down. And for what? Why are they so _desperate_ to get her back if she's nothing more than a servant?" She lowers her voice. "Why nearly kill her, if all she is... is a novelty?"

Yang pauses, the spatula half-under the pancake, mulling it over. She'd been so caught up in the magic and the mystery of it all that she hadn't even thought about the _whys_. But it's a good point: why _are_ they going through so much trouble to bring Blake back?

Blake's been full of secrets this whole time, Yang thinks, finally flipping the pancake over. Everything she'd told Yang had been strictly on a need-to-know basis. It wasn't much of a stretch, then, to consider that there could be plenty of things she _hadn't_ told Yang. There could be dangerous secrets. _Tempting_ secrets.

She sighs.

"It's none of our business," she says, somehow managing to sound airy, uncaring. Weiss frowns sharply.

"If we're protecting her from something, shouldn't we know what we're dealing with here?" she asks. Yang shrugs.

"It doesn't matter to us," she replies firmly. "She won't be here long enough for it to matter. She'll stay with us long enough to recover, and then she can swim home to selkie-land. It's got nothing to do with us."

This isn't the answer Weiss would have liked to hear; she liked to know things. She _enjoys_ coaxing answers out of data, researching each sample from every possible angle. Being denied these answers would chafe her. Predictably, she scowls.

"I know, I know," Ruby sighs, elbowing Weiss. The pancake she'd been eating is already gone. "I'd like to know everything about selkies, too. But… she's been hurt enough already, hasn't she? Maybe we should just… let it rest. Leave her be."

Weiss opens her mouth, probably to argue, but thinks better of it. The scowl fades, replaced with resignation… but also understanding.

"That's… a good point," she admits.

"And it's not like _we_ tell her all of _our_ deepest, darkest secrets after only a few days," Ruby adds, giving Yang a nudge with her elbow. "Right?"

Yang tenses, her eyes flickering over to her in a quick glare as she flips the pancake back over. She doesn't even get a chance to move it to the plate before Ruby swoops in again, grabbing it right off the spatula, letting out only the smallest hiss of pain at the heat.

"You know, if you actually let Yang put it on the plate, you could even put _syrup_ on it," Weiss mutters as Ruby tosses the pancake from hand to hand, cooling it.

"But it's best when it's hot enough to burn your tongue," Ruby quips. Yang rolls her eyes, and scoops up a fresh spoonful of batter.

At least it's not a topic they linger on, so Yang relaxes; she knows the weight of secrets, knows their burdens, that trying to dredge them up only causes pain. It's better to keep them in crypts, and let them lay undisturbed until they can be forgotten.

It's what Yang does, and it's what she'll continue to do. So she just smiles, and keeps cooking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god I'm so sorry it's been so long since I've updated... but I'm still alive, and slowly but surely, this fic is coming along!! thanks for being so patient!! I also mean to respond to all your comments, too!! it might be a while, but I'm doing my best. work is both mentally and physically draining, and it's so sad that I've been getting too tired to write most days. but I'm doing my best and I love you all!


	5. Chapter 5

Yang raps on the bedroom door, then waits. She shifts the paper bag on her hip, but at least it isn't too heavy. It's only clothes, after all. All for Blake.

She'd invited Blake to go shopping with her that morning, to get some clothes that actually fit her, but she'd been turned down. Though disappointed, she understands the reluctance. All it would take was for one person to recognize her from the _Missing Person_ posters for her safety to be jeopardized. So with Weiss and Ruby both busy with classes, Yang had gone by herself to shop for clothes, estimating Blake's size for all the basic essentials.

The door creaks open. Though the gold eye that peers out is no longer fearful, there are shadows under it, and a hint of suspicion that Yang's beginning to think will never disappear completely.

"Got some clothes!" Yang says, holding up the bag with her good hand. "Can I come in?"

It's weird, asking permission to enter her own room, but Blake nods anyway, pushing the door open the rest of the way.

"I'm not sure if you had any color preference," Yang says apologetically, setting the bag down on the bed. "But if you absolutely hate any of it, I can always exchange it."

"I'm sure it's all right," Blake says, sitting down on the bed and pulling the bag closer. "I can't thank you enough. I'm… sorry, again, that I couldn't come with you."

"It's okay," Yang replies, waving a hand airily. "I get it."

Blake looks away, back at the bag. She looks tired, Yang thinks with a pang. "I know it's… cowardly of me. But after yesterday--"

"I _get_ it," Yang repeats, gentle emphasis on the word. "And for the record… I don't think it's cowardly."

"I'm hiding," Blake says, still not looking up. She pulls out one of the t-shirts and unfolds it, measuring the purple fabric against her body. She's still in Yang's pajamas, probably for lack of options, but the oversized shirt still looks good on her. And since her shower the day before, her hair looks sleeker, less tangled, even with her mild case of bedhead. She's just naturally _beautiful_ , her dark skin rich and smooth, with a cast to it that reminds Yang of the way the moon reflects off the water.

Yang forces her train of thought away from _that_ depot; this kind of attention is the last sort of thing Blake needs right now.

"Hiding isn't cowardice," Yang reminds her. "In this case, it's _smart_."

Blake shrugs, the motion creating a small dip in her collarbone. Yang averts her eyes, like the sight of it alone would be enough to send her thoughts spinning again… but her eyes land on a notebook, laying open on the bed. She feels heat rise in her cheeks.

"Were you… looking at my sketchbooks?"

"Oh!" This, at least, gets Blake to look up at her again, an embarrassed flush on her cheeks. "I'm sorry. I swear I wasn't snooping-- I was just looking through your bookshelf, and--"

"It-- it's okay," Yang stammers. It's not like she's hiding her sketchbooks or anything, and she's not shy about her art. But still, knowing Blake's been sitting in her bed, apparently looking through it all--

"You're very good," Blake remarks. She sets her clothes back in the bag, and reaches for the sketchpad instead. She keeps it open to the page it's on, a page that includes a rough sketch of Ruby napping on the couch, as well as a couple more indistinct figures in different stages of completion.

"Thanks," Yang says, blushing. Blake's eyes scan the page, then turns it.

"How long have you been able to do this?" she asks. "Drawing, I mean."

"I can't remember _not_ ," Yang says. She hesitates, then takes a seat beside Blake on the bed. Though Blake's eyes dart over to her, she doesn't recoil, and actually tucks her legs in so that she's cross-legged on the bed, making herself comfortable beside Yang. She sets the book in her lap, making it easier for Yang to see. "Since I could hold a pencil. Or a crayon, I guess. I used to draw on the walls when I was little."

Blake's lips twitch into a small smile. The page she's opened to now is a single drawing, of the clock tower at Beacon University. A few roughly drawn students mingle at its base, though most of the detail had been put into the structure itself. "You must've been a handful."

"Nah. I was a good kid," Yang replies, grinning back when Blake glances up at her. "And my mom-- Summer-- she always encouraged me to express my _creativity_. I just don't think she expected it to end up on the walls." She pauses. "I mean, she always hung up my pictures, anyway. I guess in this way, I just saved her the trouble by putting it directly on the wall myself!"

She starts to laugh, then cuts herself off. She's rambling. But Blake chuckles anyway, turning to the next page.

"So you were actually being considerate," she says.

"Yeah!" Yang snaps her fingers, wincing; she'd snapped with her bandaged hand, pulling at the cut underneath. "Exactly!"

Fortunately, Blake doesn't seem to notice, too engrossed in the sketchbook. She's a warm presence beside Yang, a warmth Yang can feel as she leans over, looking at her own sketches. She's moved past her own self-consciousness, and feels a small flutter of pride and pleasure as Blake takes in her art. Yang is good; she knows she's good. But there's always that extra thrill, in impressing someone you want to impress.

_Want to impress_. Automatically, Yang flushes again. She shouldn't _want_ to impress Blake as much as she does, yet here she is, wanting just that.

Blake continues to flip through the pages, studying the details of each picture. There are moments on the _Huntress_ , or on the docks, or simple, bustling city life. Some of Yang's older sketchbooks have scenes from her medic days in Vacuo, of moments in the back of the ambulance, of peaceful oases, of the rough, casual clothes worn by its citizens. Some of the horror was etched into the margins of those older books, as well, and Yang's grateful that this particular sketchbook is a more recent one. She doesn't like to look through her older books.

This one is safer. It's full of friends, family, fishermen, students. People are what Yang likes to draw best; they're more vibrant to her than stoic buildings and predictable scenery. It's in the _body_ where she finds life, in expressions, in motion, in clothing. It's the _life_ that she tries to evoke in her drawings, to recreate. She wants to look at her art and _feel_ what made her want to draw it in the first place.

She could draw _this_ , she thinks to herself, staring at Blake's profile as she looks down at the page. It would be so easy to catch the wonder in Blake's face, in the sloping angles of her jaw. She doesn't think she's ever seen Blake so relaxed, and all she wants to do is draw _her_.

Blake slides a finger beside one of the sketches, always careful not to touch the drawing itself. This one is a rare nude sketch, one of a faceless woman, and Yang can feel the heat in her cheeks again. But Blake doesn't blush; she just studies it, as carefully as she'd studied the others.

"Beautiful," she says softly, and it's a compliment Yang feels with her whole soul.

When Blake moves to turn the next page, she pauses. She looks back up at Yang, brows furrowed anxiously.

"Are you still able to draw? With your hand?"

"Well… I _will_ be. Once it heals a little more," Yang says, feigning nonchalance. She shrugs. "But it's really no big deal. Just a few days out of commission, then I'll be good to go."

Blake's eyes flicker downward, landing on Yang's bandaged hand. She lifts her own hand, like she wants to reach out, but seems to think better of it and sets it back down. Yang looks down at it, disappointed without knowing exactly _why_.

"In fact…" she adds, stifling that misplaced disappointment, "I'll be good enough to go fishing this weekend. Which is another thing I wanted to ask you about."

"What?" Blake asks, immediately shifting to wariness. Yang feels a twinge of guilt, and sadness, at the speed of that transition.

"It's just about our upcoming fishing trip," she says quickly. Blake doesn't quite relax, but a little of the tension seems to dissipate; she's still prepared for a trap to spring. "Ruby, Weiss, and I won't be back for a few days. So we were wondering-- you can stay here, if you'd like. We don't mind, and can make sure there's plenty of food, or leave money for delivery or something. But if you'd like to come with us--"

"I can come?" Blake interrupts, curious.

"Only if you want to," Yang says quickly, surprised at the question; after being trapped on a boat for a year, Yang wouldn't have blamed her in the slightest if she never wanted to step on a boat ever again. "You don't _have_ to. But if you want to, you're welcome to it. We could even pay you a little, if you want to help out as a fisherman."

Blake's mouth quirks into a smile. "A fisherman? Me?"

"Well…" Yang snorts. "You don't have to. You could just come along and hang out with us instead. But if you'd rather just stay on land, that's fine, too! You could--"

"I'll come," Blake says. Yang's eyebrows shoot up with surprise at the quick decision. Blake sees it, and smiles weakly. "I miss the ocean," she explains. "And no offense, but your _ocean view_ … kind of sucks."

Yang bursts into laughter. Beside her, Blake laughs, too, a hand thrown over her mouth. She's close enough that Yang can feel each shudder of laugh; Blake has such a nice one, soft and sweet, and hearing it fills Yang's heart with a sense of ease.

"I did warn you," Yang replies, grinning. Blake returns the grin, eyes twinkling. "But… yeah. I guess it's hard for a selkie to be away from the sea, right? That's what the stories say."

"The stories have _that_ part right, at least," Blake agrees. "But… it's true. Being away from the ocean for so long…" She trails off, then shakes her head.

"We can sneak you onto the boat," Yang says, all confidence. "Nobody even has to see you. And once we're at sea, you won't have to hide."

"Good," Blake says. She pauses, closing the sketchbook. "I… think I'd like to try transforming again. Once we're out far enough."

"What?" Yang asks, smile fading as concern takes over instead. "You want to _transform_? Already?"

"I'll be able to transform," Blake replies firmly. "Ilia said as long as I'm careful, I'll be okay."

"But your stitches--"

"I'll be careful with it."

"It's not just your sealskin," Yang reminds her, gesturing toward Blake's hip. "You could injure yourself again, too."

"I'll be careful," Blake repeats. Her gaze softens as she finds Yang's eyes again. "I just… need a few minutes in the water again. Being on land for so long…" She shakes her head. "I just… can't do it."

"Well…" Yang hesitates. It's still a dangerous idea, but she reminds herself: _this isn't her business_. This isn't her call to make. Blake is more than capable of making her own decisions. Besides, Yang thinks darkly, how long had it been since she even had the agency to do so? She finds herself nodding, and gives Blake a weak smile. "Just… be careful, okay? And I'll make sure we bring the rest of the sealgut, just in case."

"Good idea," Blake says, nodding, a smile blooming again.

It's a beautiful smile. Radiant. It's a smile that will _definitely_ end up on a sketchpad later, if it's even possible to capture a shadow of that radiance on a page. Yang's hand twitches, and she mentally curses the pain of her injury once again, the only thing that will keep her from putting that smile to paper.

"I'll make sure to let the others know, then," Yang says, rising from the bed. She nods to the bag of clothes. "But before we go off… let me know if everything fits. We've still got a few days before we head out, so I can still exchange them if I got a wrong size."

"Will do," Blake says, setting the sketchbook down, and pulling the bag back over. "Thank you, again. For everything."

"Any time," Yang replies cheerfully, stepping away.

Both of them are still smiling as Yang leaves the room. And for Yang, at least, it's a smile that doesn't fade.

\--

Days later, the four of them head down to the docks before dawn, bags packed for their fishing trip. Ruby had whined as she'd packed at the last minute, cramming her laptop into her bag. She's never liked taking her laptop on the water, but with a schedule like hers, she needs every scrap of time she can get to work on her dissertation, even if that scrap of time is spent on a rocking boat.

"I just can't escape it," Ruby moans on the bus down to the docks.

"And we never will," Weiss replies with a sigh, not looking up from her phone. "It's our legacy, and will thus haunt us until the day we die."

Yang closes her eyes, tipping her head back against the window as she chews her gum. She still doesn't feel totally rested-- it's always harder to sleep on a couch than a bed, and she's prone to insomnia even on a good day. The two cups of coffee she'd had still don't feel like enough, and she probably won't feel _truly_ awake until she feels the ocean wind on her face.

"A… dissertation?" Blake asks uncertainly. Yang cracks an eye open.

Blake's face is half-hidden by a hood, looking as tired as Yang feels, heavy bags under her eyes. They hadn't seen much of her in the past few days; aside from those few minutes looking at Yang's sketchbook, they hadn't really talked much. Even when she came out for meals, she was always quick about it, and never ate much. She'd had little more presence than a ghost in their apartment. Hearing her speak now was a welcome change.

"Yeah!" Ruby brightens, straightening up in her seat. "It's the thing that's going to kill me one day," she adds seriously.

"Is it?" Blake asks, lips twitching into a wry smile. Seeing it, Yang feels a small smile of her own start to form.

"Only after a long, excruciating journey," Ruby replies with a sigh.

"At least when you die, we can write _Dr._ Ruby Rose on your epitaph," Weiss adds, still not looking up.

"That'll make it all worth it," she says dreamily, slumping back down.

Blake nods slowly. For a moment, Yang thinks she's going to leave it at that. She hasn't shown much interest in conversation before, after all. So Yang is pleasantly surprised when Blake comments, "You seem a little young for a doctorate."

"I sorta skipped a couple grades," Ruby replies with a shrug.

"What do you study?"

"Marine biology!" She jerks a thumb toward Weiss. "And _she's_ environmental science."

"It's how we met," Weiss agrees, finally looking up. "Studying the impact of Schnee Dust Company waste in Atlas. It's having catastrophic effects on the glaciers."

"And the marine ecosystem," Ruby adds, making a face. "It's gross."

"The Schnee Dust Company," Blake repeats, frowning. "I know about them."

"I'd be surprised if you didn't," Weiss replies calmly. She's come a long way since those early days, when she had first moved to Vale. Back then, she might have been more defensive when the topic of the SDC came up. Her identity had been so tightly wound into the company-- and its crimes-- that she'd felt needlessly responsible, and had often lashed out. Now, though, the anger has chilled, the energy redirected towards atonement. "It's done some pretty terrible things to the ocean."

"And that's what we're working to fix!" Ruby says. She pumps a fish in the air. "You can't fight _data_!"

"Unfortunately, the data is only the beginning of the fight," Weiss reminds her, glancing apologetically at Blake. "But… we're trying."

Blake arcs a delicate eyebrow. She looks over Weiss's shoulder, eyes landing on Yang. Their eyes lock for a moment, and then Blake nods.

"I believe you," she says softly. For some reason, this makes Weiss seem to relax a little, the tension disappearing from her shoulders. She nods once, then looks back down to her phone.

Yang catches Blake's eyes again, accidentally this time, but their gaze holds. Heat rises in Yang's cheeks, and she hastily looks away, but not before she sees Blake's lips curl into another almost-smile.

They arrive at the docks a short time later, strong with the heavy scent of seawater and fish. At least the cold air is refreshing, rousing Yang just a little more. She flexes her hand, feeling the stretch of the long scab. It's stiff, but usable now. She doesn't even wear the bandage anymore, which is a relief. It won't keep her from fishing… or drawing.

She scans the horizon, at all the dark boats docked, or moored further out in the harbor. One of them stands out to her, and she narrows her eyes.

The _White Fang_ is a larger boat than the _Huntress_ , without the massive net system in the back, but with more space on deck. It's sleeker, prettier, neater. Everything a good boat should be.

Yet looking at it fills Yang with a deep sense of foreboding, more than any other boat she's seen before. It seems to _loom_ over the other boats, dominating the harbor. Or maybe it's all in Yang's mind. She shakes her head, and looks over at Blake.

Blake doesn't even give it a second look. She just pulls her hood lower, keeping her eyes to the ground as they make their way toward the docks, and the _Huntress_.

As Yang, Ruby, and Weiss prepare the boat for its trip, Blake hides below deck, tucked away in the cabin. While ashore, they don't want to risk her being seen by someone who might recognize her from one of the posters that have been set around the dockyards. There are an uncomfortable number of them, and Yang stays extra vigilant, watching to see if anyone's eyes linger too long on them.

None of them talk about what they'd do if Blake is discovered. It's just something they can't even let themselves _think_ about.

So it's a relief when they set off to sea, the boats becoming distant shadows behind them as the sun starts to rise. Even the _White Fang_ fades into anonymity the further out they go.

When the city disappears from view, Ruby lets out a _whoop_ , punching a fist into the air. Blake, who'd emerged from the cabin not long after leaving port, glances at Ruby in alarm.

" _Freedom_!" Ruby sings at the sky. Even all the way up in the cockpit, Weiss is shaking her head, and Yang just _knows_ she's rolling her eyes.

"Freedom? With your dissertation weighing the whole damn boat down?" Yang teases, and Ruby lets out a long, exaggerated whine.

"You can't just let me enjoy freedom for like, five minutes?"

"Nope," Yang says. She slides her aviators on, already feeling the sunrise strain her eyes. "It's my duty as your older sister to make sure you never know a moment's peace."

Out of habit (how is it already a _habit_?), Yang glances over to Blake to see if she's giving them any sort of reaction, and she's pleased to see an amused smile on Blake's lips. There's something different in the way she carries herself out here; she's more relaxed, like she's _lighter_. Happier.

Yang shoots a smile her way, and feels a flutter in her stomach when Blake somehow matches her gaze through Yang's sunglasses, smile unwavering.

"And how about you?" Yang asks cheerfully. "Happy to be out on the water again?"

"More than you know," Blake replies. She turns, stepping toward the railing. She leans against it, looking out at the now-distant shore. "God, it's like I can _breathe_ again."

Yang watches her for a moment, the wind making her hair whip around her head. Blake closes her eyes, and tilts her head back, savoring the salty spray.

"Is it the selkie thing?" Yang asks. "That's what they say in the stories, anyway. That selkies hate being away from the water."

"Yes," Blake says, not looking back. "I gave myself to the ocean long ago. I don't think I could ever truly live away from it."

Yang nods, understanding. She steps forward, settling against the railing beside Blake. "I can never tell which parts of those stories are gonna be true," she remarks. "But I guess they have to have some truth to them _some_ where, right?"

"They usually do," Blake remarks. 

"Yang said you're gonna transform on this trip," Ruby says. Yang almost jumps; she'd forgotten her sister was there.

"Once we get out into the deeper water," Blake replies, still looking forward. "We're too close to shore for it now. We could still run into boats out here."

"Makes sense!" Ruby says, nodding. She gives them a salute. "Just let me know when. I wanna watch!"

"Sure thing," Blake says, shaking her head in amusement.

Yang lifts a hand in acknowledgement, and hears the pounding of Ruby's feet on the metal stairs as she heads up to the cockpit. Leaving Yang and Blake alone, together.

The water laps at the boat, the engine roars dully beneath their feet. It _is_ good to be back on the boat. Yang feels more awake now out here, and more like a person again. Not even coffee has the invigorating energy that the ocean gives her. She closes her eyes, simply enjoying the moment, and the calm presence of the woman beside her.

"I get the same impression from you," Blake says suddenly.

"What?" Yang opens her eyes, confused. "About what?"

"The sea." Blake slides a hand under her hair, flipping it idly over her shoulder. It catches on the wind a little, until she smooths over it. "You feel the same way about it, don't you?"

"I…" Yang hesitates. Blake smiles again, in that mysterious way she does.

"I can see it in you," she adds softly. "The call of the ocean… It's not limited just to selkies, you know. That's why you gave up being a medic, isn't it? You _prefer_ being out on the water, rather than being stuck in a city."

"I… guess," Yang says, shifting uncomfortably. On some level, it was true. But it runs deeper than that. Deeper than Yang wants to get into. "I've just always liked fishing. The ocean. The idea of… something vast."

It sounds lame, even in her head. But Blake only nods, like she understands, before looking back out over the horizon. There's a few vague shapes-- other boats, out for an early morning of fishing-- but those will disappear the further out they go.

"It's like…" Yang continues, frowning slightly. "Nothing else _matters_ when I'm out here. Everything looks so small when I'm in the middle of something so… _grand_. Being out here, it really puts everything in perspective. All the little things… I can just leave it all on shore, and let it fade away. It's just… freeing."

It's hard to put into words, and she has a feeling it makes no sense. But Blake's smile grows just a little bit more, and some of that unease dissipates slightly. Maybe she _does_ understand.

"The ocean isn't perfect," Blake replies, like she's conceding something. "Particularly when you're on a boat. But once you're in the water…" She shakes her head. "It's truly another world. One that doesn't end. One where there's always _more_."

"It sounds nice," Yang says, wistful for a world like that.

"It is." A pause. "And I miss it."

"We'll get you back there," Yang says encouragingly. Without thinking, she claps a reassuring hand to Blake's shoulder.

But Blake doesn't shrink back. She looks up at Yang, surprised, before her smile reforms. In the sunrise, it makes her seem to glow.

Yang responds with a smile of her own, feeling a flutter of… _something_ in her chest. Another unknowable feeling; another freeing one, too.

She doesn't move her hand, and Blake doesn't pull away.

\--

The day ends up becoming a sunny one, with perfect white clouds and a breeze that's more refreshing than chilling. Yang ends up not even needing her hoodie; she tosses it onto the stairs railing, comfortable enough in her plain t-shirt and rubber waders. Ideal conditions for fishing.

The fish apparently think so, too. The first net they pull up is a heavy one, almost a full load. Yang grins as she and Ruby empty it into the bin.

"The fish gods have blessed us today!" Ruby crows above the roaring of the engine. "They smile down upon us!"

"Or _up_ at us!" Yang quips, pointing a finger up to demonstrate. "Since they're fish gods, they're in the ocean, right? So we're _technically_ above them."

" _Shhh_!" Ruby holds a gloved finger in front of her lips. "Don't let them hear you say that!"

Sitting on the stairs, Blake snorts. Though she hasn't been helping them with the net, she's been on the deck the whole time, watching. It's partially to learn how trawling works, she'd explained; on the _White Fang_ , they didn't use massive nets like this, since tuna fishing involved luring fish in one at a time. But the real reason she's on deck, Yang suspects, is because Blake would rather be out in the fresh air, able to see the ocean, than to lurk in the cabin.

Which, of course, Yang understands completely.

But it's been nice to have her company out here. It's something different, rather than the usual, repetitive banter Yang has with Ruby, with occasional interruptions of Weiss sprinkled throughout. With Blake here, she cracks a few more jokes than usual, and laughs more quickly. She finds herself more aware of the flexing of her own muscles as she works, wondering if Blake is watching her. She keeps glancing behind her to check, always feeling a shiver of eagerness whenever she catches Blake's eye.

"They'd probably be insulted by the insinuation that we're looking _down_ at them," Ruby goes on, as the last of the fish drop out of the net. She lifts a hand, giving Weiss a thumbs-up to start cranking the net back up. "We need to be _respectful_!"

"But if they're from the ocean, maybe they wouldn't see it as an insult," Yang points out, holding onto her side of the net, making sure it rolls up somewhat evenly. "Maybe it's like… the fish equivalent of heaven?"

"So being on land is fish _hell_ ," Ruby says thoughtfully. "Huh."

"I'm not a fish," Blake comments, and when Yang looks over at her (again), her eyes twinkle. "But I think to a fish, being stuck on land _would_ be hell… which is relatable, to be honest. So you're onto something there."

Ruby huffs, muttering something about _fish philosophy_ as she helps guide the net onto the roller. Yang grins, finally turning away from Blake to begin sorting through the fish.

It'll be another good payday for them, she thinks as she surveys the fish bin. More bycatch than usual-- they can only sell certain fish, and whatever else that sneaks into their net isn't worth anything. Still, even with the excess bycatch, it's a promising start of their fishing trip.

She and Ruby sort through the fish, tossing out whatever bycatch they see before opening the small hatch that sends the fish down into the refrigerated hold. It'll preserve the fish for the few days they'll be out on the water, until they get back to land.

Her hands are sweaty in their gloves by the time they finish, and it's a relief to pull them off and wipe her hands on her shirt. She grabs her water bottle where it sits on the stairs, and takes a long swig.

"I'm grabbing a soda," Ruby says, not waiting for a reply before bounding up the stairs. Yang leans her whole body to the side, giving Ruby room to move by. Leaving her alone with Blake once more.

Or so she'd thought.

When she turns back to the fish bin, Blake is nowhere in sight, and Yang fights back a small surge of disappointment. It's a disappointment she quells immediately; she has no right to be _disappointed_ that Blake left. The books she'd brought, borrowed from Ruby, would surely be much more interesting than sitting around pointlessly on a fishy-smelling deck. Still… she wishes Blake had at least said something first.

She's about to turn, to head up to the cockpit to join Ruby, when she hears quick footsteps from below. Yang's smile returns automatically as Blake emerges from below deck, barefoot, her sealskin draped over her arm.

Upon seeing Yang, she stops. She smiles sheepishly, and holds up her skin.

"We've got some time before you drop the net again, right?" she asks. Yang catches a slight tremor of eagerness in her voice. Her eyes widen with realization.

"You're… gonna do it now?"

"Well, no time like the present," Blake says, looking down in an embarrassed sort of way. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "If it's a good time, anyway."

"Oh! I mean… yeah!" Yang nods her head vigorously, a little too quickly. "We've got time while Weiss takes us further out. If you still feel up to it, anyway."

"Of course I do," Blake replies, stepping forward, a little past Yang, staring hungrily out at the water. She shifts her sealskin to her hand, then hands it to Yang. "Hold this for a moment, please?"

Yang nods, holding it reverently in both hands. While Blake pulls her hoodie off, Yang looks down at the sealskin. It's warm, just as it was when she'd finished sewing it up, but surprisingly, it doesn't disturb her as much as it had before. For all its unnaturalness… it still feels, somehow, _natural_. As natural as touching Blake's hand, or shoulder.

She squeezes the skin between her thumb and forefinger, hardly even noticing the dull throb of her healing wound. She feels along the skin instead, wondering if she can find a pulse in there somewhere. Maybe if she--

She glances up, and heat flares in her cheeks as Blake pulls her shirt over her head.

"Uh, Blake?" Yang asks, mildly alarmed as Blake tosses her shirt over to the stairs. "What are you doing?"

"Hm?" Blake looks back over, even as she starts to pull her sports bra over her head. Yang looks away quickly, not wanting to look like she's staring (which she's _not_ ).

"Why are you taking your clothes off?!"

"Do you honestly think I'd wear them as a seal?" Blake scoffs, like the mere suggestion is preposterous. Yang's eyes flicker back over, and sees Blake working on the button of her jeans.

"Well… I guess I didn't think about it," Yang replies. She switches tactics, trying to play it casual as Blake pushes her pants down. She doesn't _watch_ , but she doesn't cover her eyes, either. She's not a prude. "So you just… do it naked."

"Right," Blake replies, genuinely unconcerned as she kicks her clothes toward the stairs. She turns back to Yang, staring her down until Yang finally meets her eyes. A small smile quirks on her lips, and she raises an eyebrow. "You're not _flustered_ , are you?"

"No!" Yang says quickly, her cheeks burning. "I just… wasn't expecting it!"

Blake chuckles, but doesn't move. Yang doesn't know what to say, or do, so she just stands there, dumbly, until Blake clears her throat.

"My skin?"

"Oh! Here!" In her haste, Yang practically shoves it at her. Laughing, Blake takes it, shaking her head as she steps back.

She strides toward the stern of the boat, opening up her sealskin and draping it over her shoulders. It looks almost like a cloak like this, with a little flap left folded at the top that even looks like a hood.

"So how does it work?" Yang asks, tagging along behind her. "Do you have to bleed on it again?"

"No," Blake says simply, coming to a halt in front of the open area where the net gets pulled up. She looks down into the water, considering.

"Do you say the magic words again?"

"No." Blake adjusts the skin in front of her, and Yang can see the neat row of stitches. It looks good, even if she does say so herself. The wound in Blake's side, too, looks good. As nasty as it had been, it's healing nicely now.

"So… what _do_ you do?" Yang challenges, folding her arms.

Blake pauses, then turns. She smiles back at Yang, her whole face alight, looking… _alive_.

"Just watch," she says, matching Yang's challenge with one of her own. She reaches back, pulls the head flap over her, and faces the ocean once more.

And then she _changes_.

Yang watches, wide-eyed, as Blake's whole body seems to shift. The angles of her body smooth out, the creases of the sealskin disappearing as her body elongates and expands, changing her from human… into something else entirely. All in the space of a few seconds.

The seal flops down gracelessly, onto flippers that _definitely_ weren't on the sealskin before. She shifts her weight a little, like she's adjusting to this different body, smoothing out all its wrinkles. Yang knows her jaw is hanging open, but doesn't know what else to _do_ , even when she hears the hurried footsteps behind her of two people running down the stairs.

"She was supposed to tell me when she was gonna do it!" Ruby whines, coming to a halt beside Yang. " _Blake_!"

The seal turns her long head, looking back at them. She's petite for a seal, almost dainty, reminding Yang more of a sea lion in some ways. But no, this is a true seal, with small flippers, no ear flaps, and a gentler face. And her eyes...

She blinks balefully at them, and that alone is almost enough to knock the wind from Yang's lungs; those gold eyes are proof enough as to the identity of the woman within.

Her eyes focus back on Yang, and she feels an odd flutter, a desperate tug, something that reminds her, inexplicably, of homesickness.

Then the seal turns to Ruby and Weiss, cocking her head as if she wants to say something. But speech must be beyond the abilities of a selkie-seal, for she says nothing. Instead, she wriggles right up to the end of the boat instead, peering over into the water below.

"Blake," Yang says. The seal looks up at her, and Yang can imagine a questioning look, a raised eyebrow. She can see it so _clearly_ in her mind's eye. "Just be careful, okay?"

The seal-- Blake-- lets out an odd puffing sound that Yang chooses to interpret as laughter. With that, she pushes herself forward, launching herself into the ocean.

Immediately, all three of them run forward, reaching the railing and leaning over to see. Yang tries to quash down a moment of mild panic; what if Blake had been sucked into a propeller? But no-- a small brown head breaks the surface. Blake bobs there for a moment, watching them with round eyes.

"I wanted to _watch_!" Ruby mutters to herself, leaning a little further over the railing. "Do you think she can show us again?"

"She probably would if you asked," Weiss replies, still staring at the seal.

"Right!" Ruby says, nodding. "What was it like, Yang? _Yang_?"

Yang doesn't even hear her own name. She's fixated on Blake, who ducks under the water, disappearing from view. She frowns, looking around, searching vainly for any dark forms under the water. And then--

They all gasp as something leaps from the water, in a smooth arc before them. A few droplets of water splash them, but Yang hardly feels them. She stares, breathless, eyes glued to Blake as she soars before them, and dives right back into the rolling waves.

"How is she _doing_ that?" Weiss asks, half to herself. "Seals don't normally jump so high."

"Magic?" Ruby suggests.

Which sounds about right. Yang is spellbound, after all, completely caught in the sway of whatever Blake's down. She watches, mouth hanging open, as Blake leaps out of the water again, a little further away.

"She's like a dolphin," Ruby remarks thoughtfully. "As much as she _can_ be, anyway. For a seal."

Blake moves so freely in the water, so easily, leaping again a little further away. She _exudes_ joy, so much that Yang can feel it, even across the water. Some ways from the boat, Blake flips around onto her back and looks back at them. She's showing _off_ , Yang realizes. She's _showing off_ for them.

And, on Yang, at least… it _works_.

She stares longingly, a part of her wishing she could leap into the water with her. It's an absurd idea; the water in the Gulf of Vale is frigid, and Yang doesn't have seal blubber to keep her warm. She doesn't even bring a bathing suit on these trips. Still… she feels a twinge of envy, for the freedom Blake is displaying, the grace, the exhilaration, the _lightness_. 

What wouldn't she give, to feel just a fraction of this? To leave all her baggage behind her, and just… let go?

Blake leaps again, and again, and again, higher and higher each time, flipping and twirling and spinning. The rest of the world is tuned out, dim, the vaguest of backdrops against the way Blake pushes against her limits, and gravity, and probably the laws of physics as she reaches for the sky.

What would it be like, Yang thinks, to feel this _free?_

It's hard to tell how much time passes, with Blake swimming out until she almost disappears from view, but always returning, to the rhythm of her own ebb and flow. The clouds move-- Yang's sure of it-- but it can't be _that_ long. But she doesn't check her watch; she doesn't want to miss a single moment of this. The three of them look on in rapt silence, interrupted only by the occasional, awed sigh from Ruby.

But at last, Blake swims back toward the boat, making a beeline for it rather than playing around with flips or jumps, aiming for the ramp where they usually pull in the net. Hurriedly, Ruby and Weiss backpedal, but Yang doesn't join them. She stays put, eyes following Blake as she gets closer, closer--

Blake leaps from the water for a final time, airborne for only a moment before hitting the ramp with a loud _slap_. She lands with enough force that it sounds like it would hurt, and Yang winces. Worried, she almost trips in her hurry to get to Blake, who sprawls on the deck, panting.

"You okay?" Yang asks, falling to her knees in front of her. A small puddle forms beneath Blake, wetting Yang's waders, but she doesn't care. She holds out a hand, but hesitates, unsure if it'd be too much.

Blake pushes her head up, meeting Yang's gaze with a level stare. Then, she closes her eyes, and tilts her wet cheek directly into Yang's palm.

Yang's eyebrows shoot up, but she quickly softens. She brushes her thumb against the seal's cheek, stopping just short of the long, bristly whiskers. The skin itself is smooth, and damp, but still so _warm_. Unconsciously, she strokes her thumb against Blake's cheek, back and forth in soothing motions as Blake slowly catches her breath.

Until something _changes_. Blake's whiskers retract, the skin seeming to deflate around her, the shape of the face shrinking. Yang freezes, worried she might've done something wrong.

From underneath the head of the sealskin, Blake's face-- her _human_ face-- pokes out, like she's been tucked under a hood all this time, still resting against Yang's hand. She looks so small, loosely wound in her sealskin, her wet hair falling free.

Then her eyes open, immediately landing on Yang, who feels herself blush. A smile unfurls on Blake's face, but she doesn't pull back. Rather, she lifts a hand, placing it over Yang's and holding it in place.

Yang smiles at her, the pounding of her heart practically audible to her own ears. She could kneel like this for hours, she thinks. Just kneeling, holding Blake's face in her hand, watching the rise and fall of her shoulders as she catches her breath. For right now, _this_ is her world, Weiss and Ruby long forgotten. It should scare her, probably, how easily she slips into this world.

But then Blake closes her eyes, and instinctively, Yang strokes her cheek with her thumb again.

And it doesn't scare her at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooooo I hope you all are well, and I miss you guys. I'm struggling to reply to all the comments... my head is empty. But I appreciate all of them and I'll get to them eventually!! <3 Thanks for your patience!!

**Author's Note:**

> I guess I lost my mind and ended up finishing the first chapter of this fic a lot sooner than I intended, but oh well!! I've also been sitting on half of this chapter for like... a few months now. It's time for this butterfly to spread its wings~
> 
> I also don't have much of a playlist yet, but once I do, I'll link it!
> 
> Follow me:  
> Tumblr: [@pugoata](https://pugoata.tumblr.com/)  
> Twitter:[@pugoata](https://twitter.com/pugoata)  
> 


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